


Eureka

by merryfortune



Series: Vrains Event Fills [9]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor or Implied Relationships, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: Fills for the VRAINS Shipping! Discord Server Bingo.Chapter 1 functions as a Table of Contents for more in depth summaries.
Relationships: Ai | Ignis/Fujiki Yuusaku, Aqua/Earth (Yu-Gi-Oh), Aqua/Sugisaki Miyu, Bohman/Zaizen Aoi, Doujun Kengo & Homura Takeru, Fujiki Yuusaku/Homura Takeru/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken/Spectre/Zaizen Aoi, Fujiki Yuusaku/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken/Spectre, Fujiki Yuusaku/Sugisaki Miyu, Haru/Zaizen Aoi, Homura Takeru/Kamishirakawa Kiku, Homura Takeru/Zaizen Aoi, Lightning/Windy (Yu-Gi-Oh), Pandor/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken, Revolver | Kougami Ryouken & Spectre, Revolver | Kougami Ryouken/Spectre, Spectre & Sugisaki Miyu, The Lost Kids/Revolver | Kougami Ryouken
Series: Vrains Event Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358041
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. Table of Contents

**Prompt /** When Did They Become Friends?

  * **Ship:** Not Applicable | Ryoken & Spectre, Miyu & Spectre
  * **Universe:** VRAINS - Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,163
  * **Tags:** Fluff & Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Outsider POV, References to the Lost Incident



**Prompt /** Asking Them Out

  * **Ship:** Entrustshipping | Kiku/Takeru
  * **Universe:** VRAINS - Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** G
  * **Word Count:** 1,312
  * **Tags:** Post Canon, Minor Character Death, Bittersweet Fluff, Childhood Friends to Lovers, First Kiss



**Prompt /** Arranged Marriage

  * **Ship:** Dragonflyshipping | Aoi/Haru
  * **Universe:** Alternate – High Fantasy
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 4,900
  * **Tags:** Political Intrigue, Drama, Arranged Marriage, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers



**Prompt /** Tossed Into An AU

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Jin/Miyu/Ryoken/Spectre/Takeru/Windy’s Origin/Yusaku
  * **Universe:** Alternate – Isekai
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 3,923
  * **Tags:** Character Death (He Gets Better), Minor or Implied Ships, Dating Sim, Harem Ending, Meta Jokes



**Prompt /** Royalty

  * **Ship:** Phoenixshipping | Aoi/Takeru
  * **Universe:** Alternate – Fire Emblem Fates
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,257
  * **Tags:** Support Log (C to S), Script Format, Friends to Lovers, War (Mentioned)



**Prompt /** Found Family

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Spectre & His Tree Mother
  * **Universe:** Vrains / Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,267
  * **Tags:** Pre Canon, Kidfic, Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Neglect, Experimental Style



**Prompt /** Lonely

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Kengo & Takeru
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,536
  * **Tags:** Neighbours/Apartments, Smoking, Minor Character Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship



**Prompt /** First Kiss

  * **Ship:** Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,384
  * **Tags:** Mutual Pining, Domestic, Fluff & Angst, Out of Character, References to Distressing Imagery



**Prompt /** What You Don’t Want, What You Get

  * **Ship:** Aiballshipping | Ai/Yusaku
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,261
  * **Tags:** Character Death, Post Canon, Minor or Implied Ships, Minor or Implied Yusaku/All Ignis, Minor or Implied Takeru/Kiku, Brainwashing, Bittersweet Angst, Surrealist Elements



**Prompt /** After The End

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Aoi/Ryoken/Spectre/Takeru/Yusaku
  * **Universe:** Alternate - Wizard of Oz
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,997
  * **Tags:** Canon Divergence, Polyamory, Minor Character Death



**Prompt /** You Thought They Were Bad

  * **Ship:** Damselflyshipping | Aoi/Bohman
  * **Universe:** Alternate - Otome Youkai Zakuro
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 6,137
  * **Tags:** Supernatural Possession, Drama, Fluff & Angst



**Prompt /** Morning After 

  * **Ship:** CrystalHeartshipping | Aqua/Earth
  * **Universe:** Alternate - Fairy Tale
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 3,645
  * **Tags:** Major Character Deaths, Fluff with a Sad Ending, Youkai



**Prompt /** What Have You Done

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Ryoken/Pandor
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,572
  * **Tags:** Episode 109 Coda, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pygmalion Kink, Minor or Implied Daddy Issues



**Prompt /** Toxic/Abuse

  * **Ship:** Tornadoshipping | Lightning/Windy
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,682
  * **Tags:** Pre-Canon, Darkfic, Brainwashing, Unrequited Pining, References to Child Abuse



**Prompt /** Soulmates

  * **Ship:** Raindropshipping | Aqua/Miyu
  * **Universe:** Alternate – Soulmate Identifying Marks
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 3,172
  * **Tags:** Canon Retelling, Canon Divergence, Hopeful Ending, Angst, Minor or Implied Aoi/Miyu, Minor or Implied Miyu/Original Male Character(s), Toxic Background Relationships, References to Child Abuse, Death Ideation (?)



**Prompt /** Nightmares/Terrors

  * **Ship:** Saviorshipping | Ryoken/Spectre/Yusaku
  * **Universe:** VRAINS – Canon Compliant (?)
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 2,014
  * **Tags:** Bittersweet Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Minor or Implied PTSD, Romanticised Content



**Prompt /** Careful of the Nice Ones

  * **Ship:** Moonlightshipping | Miyu/Yusaku
  * **Universe:** Alternate - Gods & Goddesses
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 2,977
  * **Tags:** Greek Myth Inspired, Fluff with a Sad Ending, Mutual Pining



**Prompt /** After Everything We’ve Been

  * **Ship:** not applicable | Go/Den City Orphanage Owner
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,367
  * **Tags:** Post Canon, Go-centric, Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Healing



**Prompt /** Date Night

  * **Ship:** Lieutenantshipping | Aso/Kyoko/Genome
  * **Universe:** Vrains – Canon Compliant
  * **Rating:** T
  * **Word Count:** 1,276
  * **Tags:** Pre-Canon, Developing Relationship




	2. When Did They Become Friends?

“Welcome home.” Ryoken told him, opening the door to the inner cabin for Spectre and Spectre smiled but almost immediately, a glint of sunshine caught Ryoken off guard.

“It’s good to be back.” Spectre replied.

He came inside and Ryoken closed the door behind him. All whilst his eyes kept catching on something different with Spectre’s hair. His side fringe was, uncharacteristically, pinned back and with a yellow clip, of all things. It looked familiar but Ryoken couldn’t place it. Not yet at least, he felt that he had seen it before, and it was on the tip of his tongue.

“So, how was shopping?” Ryoken asked.

“Tiring.” Spectre sighed and he sat down at the parlour’s table and chair. His grocery bags slumped on the floor beside him, he propped up his chin with his hand, slovenly.

Ryoken joined him. “I can tell, you seem wiped. Did anything happen?”

“Yes,” Spectre derisively told him, his voice cut with petty irritation, “I happened upon quite the storm,” he took an annoyed breath, “I met with Miss Sugisaki and I could not escape her.”

Ryoken laughed at Spectre’s misfortune. He hadn’t actually had the pleasure, or displeasure, of directly meeting Miyu, at least not recently... He remembered meeting her in brief before the Incident, luring her away from that park, that fateful morning, with promises of reuniting her with her friend whom she was distraught over. If she hadn’t changed all that much in the past ten years then yes, Ryoken could agree that she would be quite the storm. He remembered her as a tempestuous and tenacious child, even when sobbing and weeping.

The only reason that Spectre knew Miyu was that Ryoken had sent him on the unpleasant errand of cluing her into the inner loop. He hadn’t wanted to but with everything that had happened, he decided against his better thoughts of keeping her ignorant, so he sent Spectre on that particular errand and he had been sent on such a mission quite promptly. Ryoken preferred the idea of another member of the experiment being the one to tell her such grisly things than an outsider, such as he or Aoi. Though, he knew that Aoi would be kinder than he or Spectre but as the guilty witness to the Incident, Ryoken selfishly wanted it to be one of his own pawns enlightening Miyu to what had taken place during the Incident and what had been produced by its outcome.

Although, Ryoken hadn’t meant anything furtherly manipulative or the like, with good or bad intentions, because Spectre came home from that mission quite similar to how he was now. Harried and in somewhat of a bad mood because Miyu ruffled his feathers. He had called her a damnable hellcat, amongst other insults, but Ryoken was quite certain that Spectre saw all girls that way, Miyu being no exception no matter how irksome Spectre claimed that she was. But, putting that aside, it seemed that they were inching towards something more companionable, even if Spectre wouldn’t admit it and that did make Ryoken smile but he kept such cards close to his chest on that one until he could get more insight into what Spectre was saying, and what he was lying about or being stalwart in regards to.

Thus, Spectre continued to explain the events of his days, quite huffy, of course: “Before I could get any of my errands done, she begged and pled with me to help her at the library. Her grades were slipping, and I accidentally let her know that I was quite good at mathematics, so she cajoled me away against my will. It was horrible. We didn’t even get any work done. Well, she didn’t. I basically did all her homework for her.”

“You’re a good friend, Spectre.” Ryoken teased him.

Spectre glared. “She just copied it over in her handwriting to make it less suspicious. Absolutely no integrity that girl.”

“You have absolutely no right to say that.” Ryoken said and he was beginning to get an idea as to where that hairclip came from. “So, let me guess, whilst you did her homework, she played with your hair?”

Spectre made a face at that. “Yes.” He said through gritted teeth.

“That’s cute.” Ryoken said, a tickle of a laugh in his response.

“It was annoying her, I kept pushing it aside without even noticing it, so she pinned it back for me.” Spectre said, his cheeks a little pink.

“I think it looks good on you. I’ve always thought yellow looked nice on you. It’s subtle.” Ryoken complimented him.

“Perhaps.” Spectre murmured, unthinkingly fussing with his fringe. “She also had it braided at one point, but I shooed her off as soon as she finished and undid them. She whinged at me for doing that, but I take my vengeance where I can.”

“A very good friend, I see.” Ryoken sardonically commented.

“I suppose.” Spectre mumbled, taking the amusement at a flat value. “We talked about a few things.”

His voice growing quieter did alarm Ryoken, but he tried not to show it.

“I might understand her better now.” Spectre murmured. “It’s nice, being understood...”

Ryoken was right. Those sorts of things were talked about. He always tried to avoid the subject with Spectre as they had bitterly different recollections on the topic. Ryoken was fine with that. He accepted Spectre for what he was, sharp edged and eccentric and sometimes even unpleasant or unlikeable. After all, time had stopped for one and started for the other. A mutual agreement, all but unspoken and silent, was in place between them because, despite his flaws, Ryoken was deeply fond of his friend of ten years.

“It makes me happy to hear that.” Ryoken said quietly. Not quite a whisper.

Spectre smiled. Sincerity on his plump lips. “Thank you.”

He didn’t elaborate on that. Ryoken thought that he might but instead there was a pregnant pause and it was up to Ryoken to decide for himself what sort of conversations might have unfolded between Spectre and Miss Sugisaki. Thus, Ryoken found it likely that Miyu’s time may not have completely stopped nor started during the Incident. That seemed reasonable to him, he recalled her as a resilient figure from the Incident... But for Aoi’s sake, because it would be sad and it would be funny otherwise, Ryoken hoped that Miyu wasn’t cut of exactly the same cloth as Spectre but Ryoken was truly and mutably happy that it was, potentially, of the same dye as Spectre’s.

But, at the end of all the days, years, and conversations that could be had, all that needed to be said was yes, it was nice to be understood. Though, Ryoken was curious, not of things that didn’t concern him, such as the depths in which understanding went, but as to whether or not, tomorrow, Spectre would still have that hairclip pinning back his fringe. Ryoken hoped that he would.


	3. Asking Them Out

There was a nostalgic scent in the air, Takeru felt as he ate his ice cream with Kiku at the pier.

He had paid for it. His treat. A way of welcoming himself home and thanking Kiku for being a dear friend to him, even from afar and through things that he hadn’t exactly been upfront about. But it was time to come clean about those sorts of things.

It was the sort of thing that they would do as kids. Standing out, doing nothing but staring at the sun, sea, and sky, spending hard earned pocket money on small things like ice cream, making quiet small talk about everything and anything. But as much as things stayed the same, other things changed. They were big kids now with big things to talk about. The skyline of their little town had transformed, somewhat. Become barer as more people moved out to where the jobs were and the folk who stayed, tried to revitalise it all by making it more civic and less rural, ruining the charm. And on a much smaller scale, he was going to sound silly about this Takeru could swear the cones were getting smaller or maybe it's just that his hands were getting bigger.

Still, the whole scene set his mind at ease. His heart pounded steadily as he stared out to sea, watching the green blue waves roll in and out, foaming and frothing messily. The constant roar of the movement was soothing to him. He breathed deeply, the air was calm and salted. He smiled, bittersweet, as he licked at his soft serve, covered in a sloppy strawberry syrup and dusted with sherbet.

“I’m glad you're home, Takeru.” Kiku told him. Again. For the umpteenth time and yet it didn’t stop making Takeru happy.

“I’m glad to be home as well.” Takeru said.

He stole a glance at his dear friend. They had been friends since they were tiny tots. So many memories made and forgotten and remembered. Takeru took that to heart. He had missed her so much and he had so many regrets. He should have phoned home that night, he should have texted her back quicker that morning, he should have introduced her to Flame.

Even now, Takeru could swear that he could feel Flame and his indomitable spirit around him. Warm like a scarf, reaching out, fingers soft like rubber on the back of his hands, trailing along the veins of his arms, patting him with a face which paradoxically smiled and didn’t smile because he had no lips, no mouth, to smile with.

It was time.

Takeru was certain. He took a breath. His eyes strayed back to the sea. Through his glasses, he could see the weird merge where sky met sea. He was glad to be wearing them. It was beautiful. He was stupid not to wear them because he was missing out on such a surreal little thing.

“Kiku, can I tell you about someone. Someone important to me?” Takeru asked.

“Of course, Takeru.” Kiku replied.

Takeru had worried, uselessly, that Kiku might find some retort born of jealousy to that but she was so much more easy-going than that. Thank goodness.

“His name is – was – Flame. He’s my best friend. And the reason I was taken as a child. He’s tiny. An artificial intelligence based on me. Called an Ignis.” Takeru disjointedly explained and he started to cry.

Kiku inched in closer to him. Sat closer to him. Hand over his, fingers intwining and her touch was soft. Comforting. Through the tears, Takeru hazarded a smile. He threw his eyes closer to Kiku and she still nibbled, just a little bit, at her chocolate coated caramel swirled abomination of an ice cream on a stick. Her nonchalance wasn’t insulting. Rather, it was cute. Grounding.

“He’s gone now. I don’t think he died but I don’t think he’s coming back either.” Takeru said. “But he meant the world to me and I didn’t tell him that. Not enough, anyway. So, um, I just wanted to tell you that.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, teddy bear.” Kiku mumbled.

“But his passing made me realise something.” Takeru said. “It made me realise how much I appreciate the little things. I think humans live for the daily routine. Jobs, chores, errands, rituals like washing our hands, saying good night, wishing each other sweet dreams. Robots don’t dream of electric sheep, as it would turn out.”

Kiku giggled but she stifled it. Takeru didn’t mind either way.

“And it made me realise that I really like our daily routine. Thank you, Kiku, for everything you’ve ever done for me. Bringing me homemade snacks, bringing me my homework, making me smile when it feels like everything is hopeless, teaching me things. So, what I wanted to say is, at the bottom line, and... and it’s scarier than I thought it would be to say this but–”

“But you really like our daily life?” Kiku softly interrupted him.

Takeru pouted, looking odd with wet cheeks puffed out like that. “I wanted to say it.” Takeru scolded her.

“I know, but I feel the same.” Kiku replied.

“I’m glad. I really like you, Kiku.” Takeru confessed.

“I really like you as well.” Kiku returned him.

She tilted her head up cutely and Takeru was the one to further such a demure gesture by kissing her. She tasted like vanilla and a little bit of salt. Chocolate too, and caramel as well. Takeru kissed her hard and he felt the ice cream that he held melt, drip down his hands, not even minding that it was cold and sticky, but he didn’t stop kissing her. It felt right. Natural. Like the world couldn’t be calmer or more at peace. It was a wonderful feeling yet strangely mundane.

He smiled when he pulled back. “That made me... really happy.” There was a waver in his voice. It didn’t undermine his sincerity but rather proved how earnest and open and vulnerable that he was feeling.

“It made me happy too.” Kiku replied blithely.

Takeru laughed. A hiccup ruined it and his gaze brushed out once more to the surrounds of his hometown. He could see a lot further than he used to. He wasn’t even sure if it was because of his glasses or not. Maybe he had just matured, grown in some way, and he could see out to the forests and fields. He could swear that he could see Kiku’s family’s homestead way out in the hills. He could see things that he could swear only popped up in the last few months, like weird art sculptures better suited to the city than to the countryside but it all emboldened him.

He wanted to share more of Flame with Kiku. That, he decided, was important to him because he had picked up more daily routines to live for in the city, believe it or not despite returning home.

“Later, Kiku,” Takeru said, “can I show you the Link VRAINS? It would mean a lot to me. I could show you off, you’d get all the gossip hanging out with Soulburner, hero of the Link VRAINS.”

Kiku laughed. “You are so goofy sometimes.” When she stopped laughing, she added: “That sounds like a lot of fun, Takeru. But only if you clean up first, your ice cream is dripping everywhere, stupid.”

Takeru exhaled through his nose but it turned into a grin anyway. Kiku pulled out a handkerchief from her skirt’s pocket, and she did it ever so elegantly with one hand as she was still eating her own ice cream and dabbed half-heartedly at Takeru’s hand on his behalf. He watched, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world to have Kiku caring for him.

All in all, it felt really good to be home.


	4. Arranged Marriage

It was marvellous, Aoi thought, gritting her teeth as she listened to the news, to be deemed expendable.

“Understood, your Majesty. I am thrilled to accept this engagement. I would like my dowry sent at once with the hopes of being accepted by his grace.” Aoi replied.

She very deliberately chose not to glance towards her brother because she knew that he was in dire pain from having not only listened to this particular meeting, but all the ones prior, that Aoi was not privy to, in order to arrange this very affair. Assuming that their ploy was indulged, even accepted.

The Queen smiled deviously, charmed by Aoi’s sincerity. “Thank you, your royal highness, for your blessing. I have no doubt that this marriage will be glorious, bringing us into the light.”

Aoi’s lips twitched. The Light... His grace was the boy prince of the Light Faction, hailing from the Ignis Alliance. From what she had been told, he was about two years her junior and showed promise in all areas relevant to being a princeling. That was all anyone knew. The Ignis Alliance were incredibly silent and stalwart, preferring to keep to themselves and keep their fighting internal as well. Of them, it could be argued that the Light Faction, which of the six factions which comprised the Alliance, were the most evasive and enigmatic. But as of late, changes had been made and it seemed that they were ready to unveil all those cards that they kept so close to their chest so they, too, could leave their mark on the world’s stage of politics and drama. 

As far as Aoi was concerned, those changes had been spearheaded by Queen. But, Aoi’s concern was gradual to steep further than what she was taught. Her country was not Queen’s country and her goals were not Queen’s either. They likely weren’t her brother’s either. He was content to keep status quo, even if it choked him.

It was all so convoluted...

But Aoi had time. She bided it well as she knew her dowry would likely impress the junior Prince of Light’s eyes, she went over the sequence of events, once more, like she did every night before going to bed, when she was alone, without even a bothersome and matronly maid with her. She took a breath and she revisited the journal of her mind; it was far too dangerous to keep a physical copy, of ink and paper, unfortunately.

Ten years ago, when Aoi had been a child and her brother had been an adolescent, their parents had been married. Aoi’s birth father, a marquess, had passed away of sudden illness. Her mother, unable to provide for her house, sought a suitor and an ageing widower reached out to her; a Duke with rather close blood ties to their country’s royalty, married her and took in Aoi and her mother. Only for tragedy to strike again. Aoi’s mother and Akira’s father were killed in an accident when they were visiting a merchant family in the south.

Taking pity on them, or perhaps seeking cruelty to take advantage of, Sol’s Queen used the death of Akira’s father as reason as to why their country, small and unfortunate, ought to become a vassal state of Sol. Akira’s family were not keen on the offer but accepted it lest Queen use the disarray of bereavement as a time to strike so they offered up Akira and Aoi as tribute as, either way, they feared that they were going to be eaten by this enormous queendom on their water border. At least this way, they lost nothing of high value. Thus, when Akira and Aoi came to Sol, as proof of this uneasy allyship, they were made a prince and princess respectively as Queen, at present, had no heirs. But, such title as breakable as glass – and just as pricey.

Now, Queen was using this alliance between her country and Aoi’s home country of Cymatilis as a means to fund the war of dominance and greed that she wished to have with the Ignis Faction. She had begun her assault by encroaching on the Earth Faction’s territory as Sol shared a land border with Terra which was, by military standards, relatively easy to siege. 

With the Earth Faction in dire straits, managing both external and internal issues, Queen saw it fit to add yet more pressure by infiltrating the latter. For that, she intended to use Aoi as a pawn and Aoi was thankful. By going inside those places, where no one else could see her, perhaps she could find her way back to Cymatilis and make her parents proud.

Aoi recalled her mother as being peace loving. Meek, even. But she always wore these long blue skirts with seashell designs and feathers in her hair, more suited to young ladies than women of her own age but she was whimsical dashed with patriotism. She adored the culture of Cymatilis and it would undoubtedly make her sad to see her only daughter landlocked as she was and only ever dressed in the colours of Sol. So, for her, Aoi wanted to return home.

As for her fathers, she didn’t recall much of either of them, admittedly. She remembered her birth father’s illness and how difficult it was to look at his paper-thin skin, sputtering on his deathbed, and how she had promised time and time again around him to be a good little girl and be brave. So, she was but she knew her Stepfather to be proud and ergo, perhaps approving of her lust for agency. 

She remembered him as firm. Mighty. With axes and morning stars on the walls of his halls. She could see how he instilled such virtues in her elder brother who remained calm no matter the situation and wistful for his past home when weak. Thus, there was nothing more that Aoi desired more than her emancipation. She didn’t mind breaking her glass status as princess for that. She would be happy as a duchess, a marchioness, or even as an urchin so long as she had her brother and their freedom for being the emblem of a vassal state to Queen and her Sol was hell.

A hell which would become brighter still when she was told the following week that her dowry had been accepted.

So, like a good little wife to be, Aoi penned a letter of thanks to her mysterious Prince Haru. Into the prettiest parchment with the finest inks and other, assorted stationary, she poured not a single, genuine emotion into that letter for she saw him more as an enemy than a potential ally. She most certainly could not envision this youth as a lover. So, she wrote something saccharine and ridiculous, with sugary language perfectly polished to be polite and nothing else.

Aoi did not receive a reply to this letter.

Not a personal one, at least. Though, a telegram did come through, a few weeks later, aimed for her Queen, permitting Aoi passage to the territory of Lux and that she would be staying with the exalted clan in the citadel, Sagitta. When the decree was read, aloud by Queen’s girl of a page, Hayami, Akira fought violently in disagreement.

“Two more years!” he proclaimed, ferity burned in his eyes, slobbering like a hound to defend his sister’s chastity. “I beg of you, two more years and then those dogs of the Light Faction can have her.”

Queen scowled. “I do not want to drag out our war with Terra any longer than necessary.” she said. “I want to resolve that... skirmish and ally with the Light Faction as quickly as possible.”

“I grant consent.” Aoi piped up, fidgeting with her hands. “I... If it is for the best for Sol, and of course its vassal states, then I will take my leave.”

Queen’s scowl vanished. Or perhaps it found a home on Akira’s face who was dark in direct contrast to the rather pleasant, even playfully impish, smile that Queen now wore.

“There’s a good girl.” she praised Aoi with a certain acidity.

Akira stood closer to Aoi, putting a firm hand on her shoulder, leaning into whisper yet his eyes remained stringently ahead. Glaring daggers at Queen who returned him in kind. No matter how fake.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered to Aoi, “we can call this whole engagement off, if you so choose.”

Aoi’s nose did not so much as wrinkle when she was told this. Absolutely not, she thought. This was the perfect opportunity to find allies abroad, even if it meant being in an enemy’s den. It was not so different to her present whereabouts and the perils of it, really, if she thought about it that way.

“I have made my decision, Older Brother.” Aoi told him quietly but resolutely.

Akira gave no reply. Instead, all he did was look grim and solemn. It seemed, regardless of whether or not he liked it, he accepted Aoi’s decision. As terrifying as it was, for both of them.

With this meeting adjourned, it was decided that Aoi would leave as immediately as possible. Her luggage was packed, and a carriage was prepared for her. It happened almost all too quickly. A token Aoi read as Queen being eager to advance her plans and Aoi couldn’t blame her. She was similarly chomping at the bit.

In contrary to the swiftness of the proposal’s acceptance, the journey was quite long and possibly made longer by the fact that Akira was accompanying her. She would have liked the time to enjoy the scenery or to even make new plans, new contingencies as she travelled through the continent in which all these countries festered upon like ant hills but alas. Her brother kept a protective and eagle eye on her. She didn’t mind as much as she should have.

As a child, she often felt neglected by him as he had been thrust with many new duties as a Prince of Sol so having his undivided attention felt like a twisted wish come true. Still, she was glad to have him when they finally arrived. He let her out of their velvet carriage, and she held his arm. He was a comforting presence, as much as he was a stifling one. She was still young and inexperienced, as it were. Shy and docile, even. Her eyes wide and doe like as she gazed out across the marble halls decorated with pure white, warlike statues and weapons. He presented her before the Court that she would now belong to, if all succeeded still.

Lux was a beautifully terrifying country, Aoi observed. It did not rain all that frequently, but it still stormed frequently. Dark clouds perpetually overhead, the tips of rugged mountains getting lost in such murky clouds. Deserts and canyons of unbearable sunlight shaped the land itself which, she had been told, was rich with gold and jewels. It was a place which was economically booming. No wonder Queen saw virtue in, at least briefly, allying with them as compared to assaulting them. Scouts reported that the Earth Faction was harsh despite its contrary lushness of moss and lichen, there the soil was thin with little resource to it.

The Court looked at Aoi, and her brother, with harsh and judgemental eyes. Aoi had been told were a family and given that none of them looked alike, save for their clothes, Aoi suspected that their family was similar to hers...

“It is wonderful to make your acquaintance, in the flesh.” Lightning said, hands sweeping forward in a grandly insincere gesture of hospitality.

Lightning was a tall, thin man with electric green eyes. They seemed cruel and diamondlike. He was the emperor of this Court. He approached Aoi and Akira slightly but stopped so he could stand by his boy Prince, so small and tiny and helpless looking, save for those bitter eyes. He put his hand on that youth’s shoulder and he did not shrug it off.

“I hope that this marriage brings our peoples closer and demystifies my Court, if all goes well. At the end of this week, I hope to have a ball in Princess Aoi’s name, to celebrate her engagement to my Haru.” Lightning explained.

“I agree, that sounds welcoming.” Akira said.

“Haru, go help your bride to be move into her new quarters,” Lightning said, then making poignant eye contact with Akira, “as for you, your Royal Highness, I would like to have a private word with you in the drawing room, accompanied with my other heir, Bohman.”

Bohman bowed his head slightly and put his hand on his breast. Aoi got the feeling that he was a serene man but there was a vacancy to his eyes despite how he towered over everyone. Exuding both a physical and even spiritual energy overall, lording and dominating but not necessarily intimidating. He had power but he was not going to use it until provoked, Aoi assessed.

Akira glanced at Aoi. “I want the best for our houses,” Aoi whispered to him, “go play nice with Prince Bohman and Emperor Lightning.”

“Thank you for the invitation, I look forward to getting to know you both,” Akira said, “and I am sure Aoi and Prince Haru are looking forward to getting to know one another as well.”

Aoi smiled sweetly for the men before her. They did not return the sentiment. Regardless, she and Prince Haru were pardoned from the parlour, all decorated with white, yellow, and purple silks and tiled with white, yellow, and purple tiles.

Prince Haru, in complete silence, led Aoi to her new quarters. It felt as though he did not so much as breathe around her. All they had was the sound of their footsteps, clunky and awkward and mismatched. Aoi had her things in tow and for once, not a maid to fetch a thing for her. It was humbling.

“Your new room, my lady.” Prince Haru told her as he opened up the oaky door to it. There was a small, barred window in it.

Aoi looked around. Most of her dowry, it seemed, had been dumped here. Works of art she deemed important, depicting seaside angels and devils, luxurious fabric turned to dresses in the style of this country, and more had been arranged to feel homey. She didn’t know whether or not to feel insulted by the gesture as it seemed as though she had been given a storeroom for things these people hated, and cared not for aesthetically, rather than something which blended both their houses, even with seams.

“Thank you.” Aoi said.

Prince Haru stared at her. It was a cold gaze in contrary to the warmth that orange eyes such as his ought to exude. Aoi could think of a few reasons as to why. She imagined that she was projecting the same frigidity. With war at their doorsteps, as well as other turmoils, they were both afraid of the same thing: that an assassination may take place. Aoi was quite certain that from a gaze alone, Prince Haru perceived exactly what she was: an angel of death, here to incite change. Just not the one that he was expecting, on behalf of the ego Sol rather than any identity of Aoi’s own.

Prince Haru left her without a word after that.

For an engaged couple, they did not engage a lot. Even thereafter. Aoi soon got the feeling that she was not allowed to leave her quarters. Whether it was by her brother’s decree or Emperor Lightning’s was left ambiguous. She was summoned by maids for meals and she ate with the other members of the Court, as well as her brother. She always ate last like a beta lion. Her brother testing her meals for poison. So, he ate one bite of each where the others, Emperor Lightning, Princes Bohman and Haru, ate delicately. Aoi always ate last. It was humiliating. The silence was a pressure fit to break even coal and not to reveal a single diamond thereafter.

The week passed gratingly as a result. Aoi was not permitted to even have a word as to what her party would be like. Although, it was to her understanding that Prince Haru was not permitted such a thing either. Emperor Lightning was in the middle of orchestrating the entirety of it without quip from outside sources, even if they happened to be within his own Court.

When the night of it came, Aoi was given a dress which came with a note. Her appearance, at her own ball, for her own honour and chastity and celebration, would span exactly thirty minutes. Not a second less, not a second more. It depressed Aoi severely as it would negate the opportunity for her to scout potential allies amongst the dignitaries and their consorts who would be at this party but no matter. She would merely do what she did best. Bide her time. Wait.

Prince Haru came to collect her that evening, the sky all hung with dusky jewels outside her tower in the complex palace belonging to the Exalted of the Light Faction. He looked boyishly stunning in his finery. Of course, being prince, what he wore was always of the highest and most excellent standing but tonight, he looked especially so. Aoi was almost taken aback by it.

His white leather boots were elegant. His orange pants were flowing, wisping over the cuffs of those boots of his. Similarly loose, effortlessly tousled but meticulously so, was the cloak that he was draped in with the yellow, four-pointed spark which emblematised his blood allegiance to his crown pinning it around his neck. He looked both mysterious and charming, silken sleeves which trailed at the ends hidden under that velour cloak, revealed only when he shifted slightly so that he could put his hand on his breast and bow his head to his betrothed.

He had the same reaction unto her. Averting his gaze as he offered his arm to her. It was weird, her being taller, they both felt as she drew in nearer, her hands snaking along his arms until she comfortably secured herself to him.

The ladies’ garb of the Light Faction was similarly loose and flowy as what the gentlemen wore and equally exquisite. She had been given a grey and light blue, raindrop motif throughout her pillared skirts and bodice which slipped on so easily, on and off, her torso, feeling more like a raiment than anything substantial with glass shoes to wear on her feet causing her to step timidly.

“You look nice.” he stiltedly complimented her.

“Thank you, you look nice also.” Aoi told him.

Prince Haru did not reply to that. For once, more because he was embarrassed rather than anything else which had kept them isolated from each other, emotionally and conversationally, than anything else. Regardless, he took it in stride as he escorted Aoi to the grand ballroom that the palace possessed.

The ballroom would have already stunning from architecture alone, Aoi felt as she looked at across it all from the stairs that she and Prince Haru were on the cusp of descending down, thereby debuting them as an engaged and royal couple. The ballroom was all stained-glass windows depicting epic and godly things to its pristine floors with intricately tiled patterns with that ever present four-pointed spark motif. But when it was alive, with people and decorations, it was entirely different. Far more beautiful and magnificent with great reams of silk dashing through the steeples and beams overhead, beneath that painted ceiling. It was dotted with hung lanterns and even plants had been brought inside to be cooed over as well fed and sweetly smelling.

All eyes were on Aoi and Prince Haru as they took slow and tender steps down the blindingly white stairs until they were on a plateau with Emperor Lightning and Prince Bohman. Searching the crowds, Aoi spotted her elder brother and the familiarity of his face, in amongst all those strangers, was comforting. Trumpets rung out from every side of the room and the general chatter ceased.

“Tonight, we of the Armatos Legio Court welcome a new member into our midst, dear Princess Aoi of Cymatilis, vassal state of the Sol Queendom, and now, bride to be of our own dear Prince Haru.”

The royal couple, holding onto each other firmly still, curtseyed when they were addressed. It was then that Aoi noticed that Prince Haru’s hand was shaking. He was afraid, perhaps, and stole a glance at him. A glance which confirmed her thoughts and she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like the performative aspect of this either but at the same time, looking over the people who would be her subjects and peers, still gave her an exciting thrill. It was strange. Hypocritical? Paradoxical? She couldn’t tell as she rose up, still gripping onto her fiancé.

“Thank you for your attendance tonight for this rare and happy occasion in these turbulent times. To a brighter future.” Emperor Lightning said.

“To a brighter future.”

The words echoed through the ballroom like a holy choir. Even Aoi found herself mumbling the hail as well, contributing.

Emperor Lightning flicked his hands about, delicately as though he were conducting. “And the music please, I would like a moment for our young couple to enjoy an indulgent and romantic song, thank you.”

Aoi’s spine prickled at the base. Prince Haru was similarly surprised as they were both permitted passage down onto the floor. They stepped awkwardly onto the main foyer of the ballroom whilst string instruments began their beautiful melody. They mixed and matched their hands to each other, wishing that there had been practice beforehand but they did their best.

They found a rhythm regardless. One step, two steps, a twirl and then in reverse. An awkward waltz with sweaty palms and eye contact which went unmade. All eyes were on them as they danced to the silvery song which played on violas, violins, and mandolins. The timpani chimed in here and there and Aoi led the dance.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.” Prince Haru thanked her in his own way.

Aoi’s heart fluttered and she scolded herself. She had been here a week with her brother. Soon, she would be here alone. She was still very much steeped in the danger of being assassinated on the palace grounds as she was, rather stalwartly, being treated like a tick. Phased out from the inner circle of the palace life so that she could not function as a spy set to betray them one day. This boy she danced with, still plump with baby fat and an indiscernible, childish anger in his eyes, was her enemy. No matter how badly, and endearingly, he danced.

The song ended far too late, Aoi felt. When it concluded, she and Prince Haru exchanged a curtsey and they ushered to a table where they could eat hors d'oeuvres and sip the faintest champagne available to them. They were kept at that table for what remained of Aoi’s fairy tale night. From there, she watched the sea of people and Prince Haru mentioned, quietly, here and there that there were diplomats from other Factions here and even some members of royalty from them. Other than that, there was no one else as alien as Aoi and her brother in the mix.

Patronisingly, Emperor Lightning soon informed both Prince Haru and Aoi that it was their bedtime once they had eaten a meagre dinner of salads with olives and fish. Aoi accepted it and once more, she was escorted by Prince Haru to her room. She clutched onto him, for the appearance of seeming close and cosy, and she was not detested for it by him.

“Your room, my lady.” Prince Haru said.

“You can call me Aoi.” she told him. “I don’t mind.” She played with her skirt as she did so, liking how it felt when it ghosted over the tops of her feet exposed by those aching glass slippers that she wore.

“Thank you but no thanks.” Prince Haru replied.

“Would you like to stay?” Aoi asked, standing like a stranger in her room, looking out to Prince Haru who hovered even more inexorably unwelcome in her doorway.

“My lord tells me that I’m not permitted to.” Prince Haru said. “It would be indecent.” Yet, Prince Haru put his hand in some unseen pocket on the inside of his cloak, making Aoi curious.

“No one has to know. It’s just us in this wing.” She consoled him.

“Very well...” Prince Haru said.

He stepped inside and drew his hand out of his pocket. Aoi had feared, briefly, the worst but it was not a dagger that he brandished, no it was something far mightier. A pen. And paper.

Prince Haru awkwardly sat at Aoi’s desk by her windows, framed by the gently blowing curtains. Aoi, meanwhile, perched opposite him on her plush, four poster bed. They were separated by a woven, royal navy blue rug.

“It’s your letter,” Prince Haru confessed, “I keep it with me at all times.”

Aoi blinked. She was flattered. But she knew in her heart that it wasn’t a good piece of prose. It was overwrought and twee.

Prince Haru chuckled to himself. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, you’re shocked to hear that.” he said. “I’m well aware that it harbours absolutely no feelings for me. Why should you? We’re strangers. We just so happen to be engaged.”

“But?” Aoi prompted him, her eyes as big as dinner plates.

“But it’s never felt so good to be considered expendable.” Prince Haru said.

Aoi swallowed. She knew that feeling very well and this admission did, genuinely, shock her.

“Why do you think it was  _ my _ hand in marriage offered? Begging for your dowry? Rather than my older brother’s? The prince and heir apparent, revered by all his subjects who meet him, destined to be exalted one day...”

Aoi’s expression became bitterly neutral. Prince Haru laughed.

“My lord doesn’t care if I live or die. He doesn’t care if his fiancé kills me. The measures to ‘protect’ me will undoubtedly cease once your older brother leaves. We’re only trying to look good and intimidating to Sol’s Queen whilst important eyes are one us. Like his.”

Aoi couldn’t believe it. The first ever proper conversation that they were having as man to be and wife to be was this. Her heart ached. She knew Prince Haru’s pains all too well. Involuntarily, she remembered how her heart had fluttered earlier. There was nothing attractive about the boy prince in front of her. He was, if anything, pitiful and yet.

And yet...

Aoi took a breath and carefully considered her next words. It was all well and good to have ideas and contingencies in her head but breathing life into them was something entirely different to theory. She was, briefly, reminded of why she was expendable as a bride of her Queen’s court. Aside from being Akira’s non-blood relation, there was a stain in Aoi’s past as a potential component of a cutthroat court.

In her defence, not that it mattered, she had been a child. Her playmates had also been children. The Squire Prince of Hanoi, the heir apparent of his country which shared no borders with anyone as it was girt by sea, and his personal page boy. She had been told that whilst their caregivers, and their country’s finest diplomats, mingled with her older brother and Queen. However, Aoi had, innocently in her opinion, offended both those young boys, barely two years older than her and the consequence had been disastrous and far reaching. Her faux pas had cost Sol an invaluable alliance and Aoi was quite certain that Queen never forgave her for jeopardising that relationship between the Sol Queendom and the Hanoi Kingdom.

Though, Aoi was certain that her older brother had managed to salvage it, keeping such a thing secret from Queen as Aoi had observed that Akira somewhat infrequently sent strange, even coded reports far too out west for any of Queen’s allies to be reaching. And far enough to be reaching the secluded and warlike Hanoi Kingdom. But Aoi had no proof of that and its not like Akira trusted her with such things either because of her insensitivity unto Prince Ryoken and his consort as children. Meaning that that there could be further, political machinations that Aoi wasn’t aware of and may even fight against for the emancipation that she vied for.

But Aoi was confident that she had far from grown from that. She had been arrogant and selfish, that much she would admit, but she had grown. With all that in mind, Aoi proceeded. Deciding to tread carefully as she addressed Prince Haru. As an equal, as a lover, she supposed. She licked her lips. She would use this moment of vulnerability to her advantage. This budding fondness coupled with the empathy that she had towards him because of the unmistakably unique and spoilt pain of being the unwanted, unneeded royal child.

For the sake of Cymatilis, Aoi told herself as she tried to make a good and consoling bride of herself to Prince Haru.


	5. Tossed Into An AU

Ryoken wanted to laugh but even breathing was hurting his shattered ribs at the moment. He was probably delirious from blood loss. All around him were people shouting and bright flashing lights. He was like a limp doll, tossed about and strapped down as the paramedics pleased. He could hear their horrified whispers, here and there, but his thoughts were, strangely, too loud to fully make them out.

He was dying.

And he didn’t care. If this was how it ended, this was how it ended. He was barely eighteen and he was satisfied with the life that he led as far. He never had many friends, so he wasn’t too worried about making his acquaintances mourn because they barely knew him. His mother had passed when he was young, his father passed away a couple months ago, so he had no family obligations. He had graduated high school just a little bit before his father’s illness finally caused him to expire and he hadn’t gotten a job yet, so he had no work obligations either. With everything so neat yet loose, Ryoken didn’t have to worry.

Well, not quite.

Ryoken could think of a teeny tiny little thing to be soured over as he was pinned down to the gurney.

He didn’t like that there was no ‘perfect’ ending to The Lost Kids Club.

Ryoken had devoted hundreds of hours of his time to his favourite video game, The Lost Kids Club. Ryoken only liked one genre of video games. And that genre was the otome game genre and The Lost Kids Club was, to most, a mediocre sum of it; the sixth iteration from the Kids Club franchise by Studio Gallop. But not to Ryoken.

Ryoken found it incredibly precious to him and he was forever at a loss of words as to why. It just meant the world to him. He was weird and lonely, and this was a game about weird and lonely people finding some sort of comfort in the midst of being lost. He liked the idea of being a protagonist guiding these lost souls back to some semblance of happiness. He found happiness in being engrossed in their character arcs as they balanced what was lost and what could be found.

When he had first played it, he completed Spectre’s route first because he so did not get the controls or storyline or anything about the game as he had bought it on a whim since it was on special. Spectre’s first prominent trait was that he, alongside Fujiki Yusaku, formed a triad of childhood friends with the protagonist and as, unlike Yusaku, remained firm by the protagonist’s side the whole time had really charmed Ryoken so he mostly worked at scoring Spectre’s points. Unlocking Spectre’s backstory event certainly helped. The poor guy had had a very rough start in life; abandoned as a baby, mistreated at an orphanage, considered himself son to a tree. It was unrealistic as all Hell, but the shock factor really intrigued Ryoken. So Ryoken enjoyed Spectre’s route and when he got Spectre’s ending after the credits, he cried and immediately started a new game file.

He wanted to play the fuck out of this game and work through all its secrets and mysteries and get to know all the characters and their relationships.

He played Yusaku’s route next since he had, for the most part, earned a lot of his points whilst playing Spectre’s route and because of that, Ryoken had felt some guilt regarding giving Yusaku the flick here and there but convinced himself it was okay because Yusaku had a friend outside of the protagonist in canon and that friend was Takeru. So Ryoken liked to think that in Spectre routes, or at least in his personal Spectre route, Takeru and Yusaku could be a thing. He might have shipped it a little.

But going into Yusaku’s route, Ryoken had done his best to cleanse himself from the biases which were already beginning to calcify in his play style thanks to doing Spectre’s route first. It was there that he learned the reason as to why Spectre and Yusaku, in the game’s present canon, disliked each other despite having been the protagonist’s two, precious childhood friends and each other’s well as by virtue of once being an inseparable triad.

The inciting incident which had split that seemingly strong friendship was the fact that Yusaku had, for a brief moment in time, moved away from a bit and during said absence from their lives, got into an accident which erased some of his memories prior. It was only when he regained said memories did he re enter school and begin to return to the sphere of the protagonist’s life and, with Spectre feeling betrayed by Yusaku’s sudden absence from their lives, a misunderstanding between those two because Yusaku genuinely did not recall Spectre. Or even the protagonist until an event involving the protagonist, and at least two full hearts of point scores, wherein Yusaku miraculously overcomes that blockage of his memories. An event which takes place by the sea, of all places.

Now that Ryoken had played Yusaku’s route, he played Takeru’s route next as seeds of Takeru’s route were sprinkled here and there in Yusaku’s given their connection. Takeru was Yusaku’s present best friend and the character designed to not immediately lick the protagonist’s boots. Ryoken had to redo Takeru’s route a bunch of times since he stringently refused to look up a guide lest he spoil himself on accident because Takeru’s points were some of the hardest to earn.

Still, Takeru’s route was quite engaging. As he was the transfer student character, he had narrative tension between his past and present. The protagonist’s job was to absolve him of the guilt that he felt from leaving his family behind to pursue a more advanced education versus feeling like the fish out of water in the city. He was also the token bad boy. He had a lot going on and kept Ryoken on his toes, constantly having to redo conversations with him because he was surprisingly volatile but getting his ending was beyond worth it. He smiled damn magnificently by the end of it, a scene in the rain, of course as per the convention of the bad boy character.

And then, Ryoken decided, it was time for something completely different after three boys with intensive interconnectedness in story and character. It was time to begin reaching out to the outer circle of characters. The fourth route that Ryoken played was Sugisaki Miyu’s. Instead, the protagonist was tasked with inspiring Miyu to reach out to her own long lost childhood friend whom she seemed to have some sort of sapphic tension with only to ultimately decide that she wanted to live for the now and kiss the protagonist.

Her storyline was quite removed from the Spectre/Protagonist/Yusaku/Takeru mainline story. Though, debatably another character, Jin, could be inserted in that debacle as well since Yusaku and Jin were friends outside of school thanks to Yusaku part timing at Jin’s brother’s hot dog stand but Jin mainly veered away from the interpersonal drama involving broken up friendships and repairing friendships between the protagonist and the inner circle.

Overall, Ryoken found her route sickly sweet and honestly, kind of rushed but he still very much enjoyed it. Her playthrough had been the quickest since all her events were done in swift succession of one another. He really did enjoy helping Miyu reconnect with her long-lost friend, paralleling what was happening in the main story which Ryoken found greatly pleasing in a narrative sense. But more aesthetically, her saccharine personality was very endearing, and a nice change of pace compared to how serious and stony faced the boys were. He also admired her own tenacity. She was just all sorts of adorable, really.

After doing the gay route, Ryoken decided to do the other bullshit gimmick route next and he finally had to relent and look up a guide since he couldn’t decipher the hints in the instruction manual which had come with the game’s disc. So unlike with Miyu where Ryoken could fast forward a lot of the stuff, he had to play very carefully so he could make sure that the rumour that the boy in the next class over was that he survived and didn’t die in his car accident.

A lot of his events took place in the hospital. Bringing him homework and grinding up his experience points that way. Though, addressing rumours and other throwaway dialogue helped key up points as well. In terms of the mental game, Hibiki’s route was the most intensive and requiring an eagle eye. Button mashing was not an option in this playthrough. But why would you want to? Ryoken found the writing in this particular route to be the most hilarious despite grappling with some rather grim things and in a rather realistic way, as compared to how it treated the ‘angst’ of the main boys and even Miyu.

The story itself was actually quite calm. At least compared to the tumultuous mainline story. Occasionally veering more into those new age existential games which are mostly just animated text simulators more than anything which is meant to be traditionally played. That was because Hibiki’s route was quite contained to the hospital room which is why when Hibiki is finally released from the hospital, and even permitted to graduate with the rest of the classes of their year, makes it all the more sweet in a way.

After completing Hibiki’s route, the sixth route that Ryoken did, and enjoyed, was Kusanagi Jin’s route. Another of the outer circle of characters, Jin’s route explored why the gentle giant was the gentle giant that he was. In his case, his loss was the fact that he had been permanently injured and would never be able to play soccer again, a fact quite scarring for him since it was his biggest passion. He was even called a soccer prodigy at one point.

So, aside from romantic love, Jin’s gain in his route was helping him discover other, smaller passions as well. Such as gathering up the courage, from his listless self, to ask his brother to help teach him to cook as well as trying other things. Some of which would turn into cute bounties for the protagonist such as when he tried making paper cranes for the first time and ended up with crumpled swans. Scenes which Ryoken knew he would cherish forever. Still, the added element of brotherly love was nice since all the other main characters were either only children or orphans.

It was at the end of doing Jin’s route that Ryoken discovered that there was a secret ending where the protagonist could hook up with Jin’s older brother but Ryoken did not like that ending for three reasons: one, it was stupid since it ended the game almost immediately, two, it didn’t even come with a pretty watercolour illustration after the ending credits, and three, the age gap kind of weirded him out to be honest since the protagonist is like sixteen or seventeen. But, as a human being, Ryoken could tell that Shoichi could get it.

Of course learning that there was at least one secret ending made Ryoken return to the guides and he found another secret ending where the protagonist didn’t end up with anyone but he didn’t like that ending either because he thought it defeated the purpose of playing an otome game. He wanted the escapism of being pursued romantically by half a dozen pretty boys and one pretty girl, goddammit. And also, it was another ending which didn’t come with a pretty watercolour illustration after the credits so that is also very insulting.

But those were the only secret endings coded into the game, Ryoken discovered and that crushed him almost immediately. He had been really, really, really hoping that there would be a harem ending but alas. No such luck.

Even now, fucking dying, Ryoken was lamenting the fact that The Lost Kids Club didn’t have a harem ending.

It probably didn’t help that he was on his way home from the convenience store, pausing his latest play through so he could buy some snacks and iced tea to enjoy the ending credits of his game in perfect, gamer bliss and he had played the game in a way which would force it to pick an ending for him since he had strategically gotten a flat across the board score with every one of his favourite characters. Would it be Spectre, Yusaku, Takeru, Miyu, Hibiki, or Jin whose ending that he got?

The excitement of not knowing had caused Ryoken to not look both ways before getting hit by that car...

He closed his eyes, prepared to die, thinking about how he would have loved to have an ending which was perfectly and wholly written to please him and probably only him. But, when he opened his eyes, Ryoken found himself alive. And at a graduation ceremony. At a high school which was definitely not the one that he, himself, had graduated a few months back but it was familiar.

Pretty and pristine and watercolour.

Ryoken glanced around as discretely as he could. He was in a nigh faceless crowd. Not a single soul he recognised. A droning principal which wore glasses glaring and a hidden face concluded the ceremony and dismissed the graduating class.

“Thank you for this wonderful year, Den City High School’s Class of 202X.”

Ryoken’s blood ran cold. His eyes widened and his heart thumped steadily in his chest. He knew that name. Den City. Den City was a made-up location for The Lost Kids Club.

Is this what Heaven looked like? Or was this just his brain’s dying neurons trying to entertain him but either way, he was consumed by this all-powerful curiosity. If he was at graduation, looking down he saw that he was wearing a very short, navy blue pleat skirt, and if he was at Den City High School, part of class 202X then maybe... just maybe...

The dismissal was a whirlwind breeze and Ryoken couldn’t have gotten out of the gymnasium faster. He looked around and he knew these stock-still scenes anywhere. He raced for the back, towards the beautiful and blooming cherry blossom trees, clutching onto his high school diploma, and he waited.

And he didn’t have to wait long.

All six of them arrived from different directions, meeting Ryoken, crowding him and glaring at one another with dagger-like confusion. Ryoken smiled a stupid grin. He couldn’t believe it. All six of his favourite characters in the flesh. He was going to cry. Oops, no, he was crying. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, pretty and crystalline.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, as though he didn’t have the protagonist’s wishy-washy lines of greeting memorised by heart, “I have something important to say.”

In the secret ending where the protagonist doesn’t romance any of the characters, the credits roll at the gym as none of the characters have any reason to be at the back of the gymnasium so Ryoken was certain that they were all here because they all thought their route was canon. Of course, if this was something like a second life, then maybe there was something else at play but Ryoken knew this game like it was the back of his hands. He was going to play like he had always dreamed of playing it: getting that harem ending which didn’t exist.

“What’s going on, Ryoken?” Yusaku asked. He was stony faced.

Spectre meanwhile looked as though he were about to blubber. “I thought... I thought I was your only one.”

“I wanted to thank you one last time for encouraging me to reach out to Aoi-chan and to say something else about how you inspired me but now I’m having second thoughts...” Miyu whimpered.

“Is this your way of pulling pranks?” Jin had tears in his eyes as well.

“Yeah, this is one hell of a mean joke, I would know.” Hibiki agreed.

“Honestly, what the hell, Ryoken?” Takeru growled.

“I can explain.” Ryoken said. “You’re all video game characters, and I’ve played all your routes dozens of times. But now, it’s time for a new ending.”

Ryoken thought that there might be protesting but instead, it seemed that they were all willing to believe that their entire lives were simulations written to amuse and entertain someone else. Of course, they all had dark and heartbroken looks, nonetheless. It probably helped that as they were speaking, their words were coming up in front of them in sky blue and white bordered text boxes. That was pretty strange and there were other things about their world which, now that they thought about it, even slightly, seemed too unreal to be anything else but their upset was more due to Ryoken than any revelation about their world.

“I love all of you, truly. I do. I have no doubt in my mind that the way you guys remember this past year is really different to how I do but... but for whatever reason. I’m here. I’m alive. And I do love all of you, but I can’t choose.” Ryoken said, resolute. “So, it’s my way or its heartbreak for everyone. You, me, literally everyone.”

“Harem... ending...” Jin murmured dumbly.

“Yes. Harem ending.” Ryoken confirmed.

“You can’t be serious.” Takeru whined.

“I am.” Ryoken said.

Yusaku shrugged. Sighed. “Fine. If this is all a simulation because we’re in a video game, I see no harm in it.”

“I’m still special to you, right?” Spectre asked, clutching his hands in front of his chest.

“Absolutely.” Ryoken flashed a smile.

But, of course, he thought that all of them were special to him.

“I think this would be a good time to rekindle our friendship, yeah? I’m sorry for how I treated you, Spectre, for not understanding your perspective.” Yusaku said, reaching out to Spectre.

“I treated you horribly as well.” Spectre agreed, murmuring.

“I have no idea who literally any of you boys are.” Miyu said. “But as long as Ryoken will have me, I’ll have y’all as well.”

“Okay. I’m in...” Jin murmured just beneath Miyu’s murmuring; their text box faltered.

Ryoken noticed and smiled at such a skip, at how the words bent and blended because the game wasn’t used to actually normal paced conversation which could be messy and trailing and misshapen. They were beginning to break free from the monogamy and the monotony. Brilliant.

“Thank you,” Ryoken said, tearing up, “thank you all so much.”

He took a breath.

He knew all their endings by heart. But he didn’t know what would happen after the credits rolled, and the sky was beginning to blacken and no one so much as blinked. But, Ryoken knew that there was life after the credits. Even if it was brief, delivered with an artsy and haphazard watercolour illustration but he wanted to believe. To trust that knew. There was life after the credits and he was going to enjoy the life that he had, his second chance in the fictional Den City with these six people – not characters, people – who were so very important to him. His heart pounded as their faces lightened up. Smiled. Became willing to go ahead with what Ryoken wanted because that’s all that they wanted.

Ryoken thought about their individual endings, he could clearly recall the illustrations which came adorned with them after the credits rolled. 

Spectre’s route ‘finished’ in a few months after graduation, and returned him to what he had lost, his tree mother, but with the gain of having the protagonist and the protagonist’s love. There, in the middle of that forest’s meadow clearing, Spectre mused in drifting text boxes that he would like to open a florist with the protagonist’s help. It was a quiet, sombre moment in contrast to how eccentric that Spectre could be in how he was written.

Yusaku’s route had he and the protagonist kissing passionately against a full moon. Easily the raciest of the illustrations, no wonder he was generally considered the deuteragonist to the protagonist’s centrality. Hands entwined whilst a beautiful watercolour sea twinkled around them. There, against that Stardust Sea precious to both him and the protagonist, Yusaku murmurs that, no matter how fate changes, they were going to be together forever.

Takeru’s route showed him and the protagonist years and years after graduation, on a beach with his hometown’s house in the distance, a beautiful wedding of two but it was implied that their guests were just outside of this moment drawn where the protagonist was throwing up a bouquet whilst her arms interlinked with Takeru’s. Both were smiling and laughing. It perfectly demonstrated the thematic tension in Takeru’s arc about his worries about the past and future, wanting what his parents had and what his grandparents before him had too. Now he could have it, marital bliss, with the protagonist as well.

Miyu’s illustration showed that after her route, she and the protagonist were still going steady. Anything more would be far too salacious for Studio Gallop. But it depicted them in cute nightwear, enjoying a meal together where Miyu, very giddily, explained how excited she was to have gotten into medical school and implied that the protagonist was going to do her best to support Miyu through it and then some again after she graduated and found a hospital to work on. Perfectly tidying up Miyu’s initial shtick as the Ill Girl. 

The finale to Hibiki’s route showed both him and the protagonist moving into their first apartment together. Hibiki was sitting on the lounge, all smug and with an eye patch over his left eye, whilst the protagonist was doing the heavy lifting, moving boxes and excavating crockery from inside of them. The voice over and text alluded to Hibiki joking that he couldn’t because he had poor depth perception. Another one of his little jokes and japes that he was so fond of as despite belonging to a rather grim route, he was a rather jovial character, in all fairness.

The illustration depicting the ending of Jin’s route was a little strange in that it depicted the protagonist asking for Shoichi’s permission to propose to his little brother. Shoichi being just out of shot whilst the protagonist held hands with an equally nervous Jin beside her, but it was an interesting subversion of a problematic and patriarchal trope. It also did its best at depicting the brotherly bond between Jin and Shoichi and how the latter impacted the former so strongly.

With a breath, they let the credits rolled, knowing full well that there would be life after it and Ryoken couldn’t wait. They would get their watercolour illustration, only shinier, in better definition for it would be lived and photographed. He was certain. They would make this work. And Ryoken imagined all those endings, cobbled together into one perfectly messy hodgepodge. He was looking forward to it and he hoped that his loves were too, though he was swearing himself to secrecy because he didn’t want to spoil their endings for them too since they were caught up in this moment thanking the player for playing the game.

There truly was life after the ending credits, they would know, they were going to live on like humans, not like zeroes and ones.


	6. Royalty

* * *

_ Support Log C _

**Takeru:** [grinning] I am ecstatic to have finally been able to meet you one on one at long last. I have always looked up to you and your feats, Lady Aoi. Or, should I call you, the Blue Angel of the Hoshido Army.

**Aoi:** [shocked] I am surprised to hear this. I did not realise that stories of my battles have made it as far as the Flame Tribe, let alone to the point where members of the Flame Tribe would look up to me. Thank you, Takeru.

**Takeru:** I’m something of an oddball, I will admit. Not many of my people take interest in the Hoshido Royals outside of political liaison, especially not the outcast ones... but I admire heroes, naturally, and you are a hero Aoi.

**Aoi:** [blushing] I am no one so important. I merely want to be a self-sufficient princess, so my Older Brother does not have to worry about me, but he does anyway...

**Takeru:** [mildly distressed] Protecting family is a noble goal.

**Aoi:** You seem wistful, are you alright, Takeru? Is there something you would like to talk about?

**Takeru:** There is, actually, but I’m afraid it’s off topic.

**Aoi:** Go ahead, you have permission to change the topic.

**Takeru:** I would be thrilled to go up against you in an exhibition match, would you do me the honours?

**Aoi:** It would delight me as well, Soulburner of the Flame Tribe. I would love to have a match against you soon.

**Takeru:** Then it’s settled. Let’s arrange a time and place, be there or be square, as they say.

* * *

_ Support Log B _

**Aoi:** [exhausted] You win, Soulburner. It seems I have much to learn still in order to defeat you.

**Takeru:** [grinning] Nonsense, Lady Aoi, your talent with a spear is unparalleled. You had me on the ropes many times. The way you are one with your Pegasus, it’s very impressive. And I’ve never had a match like that against a mounted unit as us from the Flame Tribe prefer to stand on our own two legs. It was very interesting!

**Aoi:** Thank you, Takeru.

**Aoi:** I must say, your technique is a little unorthodox considering your origins. I’ve seen my Older Brother spar members of your tribe before, but your movements are a lot nimbler than theirs. You prefer swords to clubs, as well.

**Takeru:** [laughing] Thank you for picking up on that. My Grandfather tried to teach me tradition, but I was a brat for him. I used to be a real punk before being inspired by stories about Hoshido’s Blue Angel and their Playmaker, so I reconnected with my friends, wanting to better myself after my slump, and through them, I developed my own technique.

**Aoi:** Amazing.

**Takeru:** [teary eyed] They really are...

**Aoi:** I see, so your Grandfather taught you the basics, and your friends taught you something new, and what about your Father? Did your parents teach you as well?

**Takeru:** I know you don’t mean ill, Lady Aoi, but there is a time and a place for everything, and I’m afraid stories about my parents are not fit for after an invigorating and fun duel like ours.

**Aoi:** [shocked] My apologies, I did not mean to be insensitive, I did not realise-

**Takeru:** [laughing] You are forgiven, Lady Aoi.

* * *

_ Support Log A _

**Takeru:** Lady Aoi?

**Aoi:** Yes?

**Takeru:** If now is a good time, I’m happy to explain to you more about my parents, if you like.

**Aoi:** If only if it is your time and place...

**Takeru:** Like I said, I know you don’t mean ill. Everybody knows about the tragedy of the Hoshido Royals... You are like me, an orphan.

**Aoi:** Oh.

**Takeru:** My parents were killed in a hunting accident when I was six years old. I never had the chance for my Father to teach me anything about the Flame Tribe’s way of life, as is tradition between parent and child amongst my people.

**Aoi:** My condolences.

**Takeru:** Thank you.

**Takeru:** Instead, it was my grandparents who looked after me and I still feel terrible for leaving them behind but Hoshido needed me and I wanted to be a hero. My Grandfather called me an idiot for it, but my Grandmother kissed my forehead and asked that I come home safely.

**Aoi:** You will, Takeru. I will insure it. You are a hero and we of the Royal Family thank you deeply for your service. You are a very important member of this army, Takeru.

**Takeru:** Hearing the legendary Blue Angel say that, it’s like a dream come true.

**Aoi:** And you are right. I do know how alienating it is to be an orphan. I am grateful for my Older Brother’s strength every day. I hope together, with you Takeru, we are able to reinstate him as the rightful King of Hoshido.

**Takeru:** I know we will.

**Aoi:** I hope, afterwards, the Flame Tribe hails you a hero as much as we will.

**Takeru:** That would be most excellent, Lady Aoi.

* * *

_ Support Log S _

**Aoi:** Takeru, may I have a word with you?

**Takeru:** [surprised] Lady Aoi! What a coincidence! I was just about to go and find you.

**Aoi:** Truly? Why?

**Takeru:** It, ah, doesn’t matter. Not yet at least. Please, tell me, how may I help you? Have as many words with me as you like.

**Aoi:** I just wanted to thank you again for your service to my Older Brother and I’s army. You truly are my hero. I admire you and your burning soul.

**Takeru:** You flatter me, my lady, if you continue so, I will no doubt grow too big of an ego for anyone to handle.

**Aoi:** My apologies, I was merely thinking out loud. Allow me to take my leave then, you seem busy.

**Takeru:** I am never too busy for the... Princess... of Hoshido...

**Aoi:** Are you alright? You are burning up.

**Takeru:** Tis merely my fiery soul, Lady Aoi.

**Aoi:** If you say so...

**Takeru:** Ahem, before you leave, I would like a word with you as well.

**Aoi:** Go ahead.

**Takeru:** You are Hoshido’s angel, but I would like it if you were to be my maiden. After the war, if you are interested, would you like to come home a hero to my Tribe?

**Aoi:** Takeru, sir, are you implying...?

**Takeru:** Aye, my lady, I would like to know if you would be interested in being my bride.

**Aoi:** The spoils of your crusade in Hoshido, perhaps?

**Takeru:** [shocked] No, no, not at all, it’s not like that... My soul is never calmer than when its around you. The fire in me burns blue and hot, unlike how it rages when I am away from you. I appreciate your presence for you, Aoi, if I may be so bold.

**Aoi:** [smiling, blushing] You may, Takeru. I would be honoured to be your wife someday.

**Takeru:** [teary eyed] Someday soon, I hope. And I want to have with you, give you, what our parents couldn’t have. A nice, long happy life together.

**Aoi:** [teary eyed] That sounds wonderful, Takeru.

* * *

_ Ending Card _

After the war, Takeru returned home, a hero both amongst the Flame Tribe and in Hoshido, and retired with Aoi to have a nice, long happy live having two children together who grew up adored and hearing stories of their parents’ brave exploits. Thanks to her marriage into the Flame Tribe, Princess Aoi was able to foster strong and lasting bonds between her new home and with her royal home of Hoshido.


	7. Found Family

Once upon a time, there was a boy whose mother was a tree.

He was a strange child, to say the least.

He had big, eerie eyes of blue and he rarely ever spoke. He, instead, preferred to keep by himself to observe all around him, starving for interaction but not knowing how to initiate it without it devolving into conflict. Conflict, specifically, against him.

This boy was taken from that tree when he was still an infant, to an orphanage just as hostile as the wilderness which he truly came from, but he always knew. He always knew that he was not meant to be among humans for he was the odd one out, the weirdo in the corner, alienated and isolated. Disliked and even outright hated for this budding unnaturalness which he had as a mere child. It was creepy, he was told, how he remembered  _ everything _ and how he behaved just a little bit too mature for his age yet was simultaneously a tumultuous brat. He knew whenever he looked out the window to yonder, his heart would ache. He knew that four walls and a roof would make him uncomfortable, he only ever felt soothed when he could see greenery and foliage.

The other children would make fun of this changeling child. They would call him names, they would push him down, they would keep him at the bottom of the pecking order that they had. They would make him feel, above all else, weak because of how he craved the maternal love that he knew there would be in bark and leaves.

But, despite the bumps and scrapes and aching hearts, this boy knew that he was destined to greater things. He read prophecies in a book about the tears of a blue angel. He clung to the pages of his favourite book, waiting, reading. Reading some more and devouring language with far too much ease. He would be made fun of that as well as everyone disliked the tall poppy. But he knew. Adapted it all inside himself as he waited on the outside.

Once upon a time, there was a boy whose mother was a tree and he was an utter ghost of a child. His presence was wispy. He faded into the background when he didn’t even try. It was better that way, for him, he thought as he hatred, furiously, how his peers would torment him for things that he could change about himself; his loneliness, his eyes, his endeavour for reading, the way his heart yearned for something just out of his reach, found in the branches and boughs of trees.

Even when the few adults in his life – the nurses, maids, and matrons of this orphanage – counted their heads and counted again for good measure when they touted their children on excursions and expeditions, it was this boy who was forgotten. Never counted and never counted again once more for extra good measure. Usually, he was fine with this. Moving with the shuffle, finding a seat on the bus, toddling along just behind the chain as his fellow, impoverished children refused to hold his hand but this time. This time he would take that curse as the blessing that he was for he could finally return himself, at long last, to the very place which started it all for him, he knew, he remembered so eerily, because he had been taken on a picnic.

They were going on a bear hunt. They were going to catch a big one.

They were going to have sandwiches and apples and juice boxes on tartan patterned rugs sprawled out in the mountains behind the orphanage.

He had always wanted to venture out into the woods, but he had been afraid to. He was weak, remember? There were wild dogs and worse out there. But there was safety in numbers. And he blended into the crowd and when that crowd was dispersed, he had never felt stronger.

The children had not been led that far into the woods, so the young boy pursued onwards where no one else dared to tread. He ducked through haphazard fences, rotten with age and weathered by time and he very happily continued upwards until he found himself, with his own two feet and own two hands, in the middle of a field which he had not been in since he was an infant, mere days old.

He remembered it. He knew it.

All around him, was the familiarity and comfort that he had spent the entirety of his life, all five years of it, craving it more than he craved food or the touch of his fellow human beings.

(Or at least, that’s what he was told they were, these strange people around him. He didn’t see them as the same species as he and he had yet to be given hard evidence that they saw him as the same species. It was like how the ugly duckling saw itself as a duckling despite being a signet.)

In the middle of this precious nowhere, the young boy stood and felt the wind in his hair. The air here was clean. Fresh. He breathed it in deeply and safely, basking in perfectly lukewarm sunlight. This place felt more like a nursery, all for his indulgence, more so than any other place he had been given a crib or cot in the orphanage. Surrounded by tall trees, rustling amongst themselves, their queen’s son, the prodigal prince, had returned, had him excited but it was the tallest of them all that the young boy looked up to with the most gleeful awe.

Smiling wide with a slackened jaw, he tilted his head up high, his eyes caught on blinds of sunshine coming in through the overhead foliage. Somewhere in it, somewhere far up off the ground, he saw a face and he couldn’t be more certain. His knees weekend at the revelation and his heart pounded.

“Mother...”

His voice cracked. His eyes watered and gratitude over the reunion in this place had him fraught with joys the likes of which he had never known before.

He launched himself forward. Throwing himself at her roots, snuggling into the ground, his tiny, chubby hands reaching for the knots and gnarls of her system at her base and all he wanted was to crawl into the vacant space, made and grown just for him, to sleep there. He had no doubt that if he were to sleep there, he could sleep in peace as compared to the bunk beds and cots in those overcrowded, overshared bedrooms of the orphanage.

“Mother!” the young boy called out, beyond belief with happiness as he sobbed at her roots.

He felt something around him. A stiff perk of roots ends. Twigs falling from above, cascading gently over him, welcoming him back to his Mother’s side, where he deserved and belonged to be cradled. All the evils which this young boy had felt before this moment dissipated. He no longer felt unloved nor did he feel like some ghost or alien. He was alive. He was in the present. He was exactly where he needed to be, and it thrilled this little boy beyond all belief. The trees and plants around him pet his shoulders, the sun kissed his head, and that feeling all around him was a blithe maternal love that he would cherish eternally. He internalised this moment something awful and dear.

Yes, there was once a little boy who was the son of a tree and that tree loved him very much.


	8. Lonely

Takeru had the window open just a crack. He would have loved to just seal himself off from all the outside world and just revel in his misery and stench, but he knew Flame, and his grandparents and even Kiku, wouldn’t want him to do that. It wasn’t even a nice day out. It was just. A day. A slightly stronger breeze than usual, maybe but no spectacular setting suns or the alike. Not that it mattered much. It was all blocked out by that concrete jungle out there and it just made Takeru frustrated. Perhaps even nostalgic for his hometown and there wasn't a single building which was tall enough to block the rural landscapes around it, the rolling fields and the ocean. And so, the window was open just a crack.

Letting an acrid smell drift past and for the first time in hours, Takeru had a reason to get to his feet.

He felt gross and grungy, he hadn’t showered in two, maybe three days but he very excitedly launched himself to the balcony regardless. It was just a small thing, mostly cement, and a chair but it was still a balcony. He was just lustful for that smell. Cigarette smoke. With any luck, he thought, with any luck he would be right.

And he was.

Takeru had a weird neighbour. He was like thirty-two or something but probably younger. It was weird to him that they had matched up in the same apartment like that. He was creepy and depressing but he also sometimes gave Takeru extra bags of rice and bread or whatever because he bought some on accident but the only accident was the fact that he tried to play off a good deed as something grouchy. Takeru used to tell Flame that he had theories about how he knew who this guy was. There was a familiar tinge to his voice, even Flame could accept that, but neither of them could place it.

Best of all, he was a smoker, but he seemed to be on the tail end of it. Trying to quit and all that. Takeru had never gotten too into smoking, thankfully, but right now, he wouldn’t mind the foray back into it.

Sure enough, his weird neighbour Doujun was on his balcony, staring out blankly into the cityscape horizon with a cigarette in his good hand. Well, he only had one. Takeru didn’t know if he was born without a second hand or if had been amputated. He knew better than to ask insensitive questions, but he had a feeling that Dojun was an amputation patient. He had that big scar on his face, after all but you never know. Life can be really weird after all so those could be unconnected conditions on one ma.

“Oi, old man,” Takeru called out, eagerly grabbing onto the left of his balcony’s railing, jumping up onto the base and reaching over, the railing digging into his stomach, “can I bum a cigarette or two?”

“Aren’t you, underage?” Doujun snarled. “I’m not giving cigarettes to a minor.”

“Please.” Takeru begged. “Just one.”

“Smoking’s bad for you. Don’t you know.” Doujun said whilst taking a suck from his cigarette. When he exhaled, the cloud of smoke was immediately pushed into Takeru’s face because of how the wind was going and Takeru breathed deeply.

He smacked his lips together, his nose tickled with that terrible smell and worse taste, but the nicotine was faintly there. “Yeah,” Takeru said, “I know. That’s why I wanna do it.”

“Dumb brat.” Dojun mumbled to himself, hypocritical.

“Please. I’ve had a rough week. I need something to take the edge off.” Takeru tried begging again.

Doujun turned his head to get a better look at Takeru. He probably couldn’t see well with all that long, shaggy hair and scar tissue in his face. But Takeru wondered what he could see when he did so. How did he see Takeru?

Did he see the fluffy haired, well meaning kid in a tie and a school uniform? Did he see the gross jock meandering back towards delinquency because he had his hair pushed back, mostly with grease rather than hair product? Did he see some miserable blend of the two? Or something or someone completely different?

Takeru was curious...

“We’ve all had rough weeks, kid.” Doujun said and just to spite Takeru, he put the cigarette back in his mouth.

“Please...” Takeru murmured. “I just wanna go home but I can’t and my best friend died a few days ago...”

“The Ignis?” Doujun prompted him.

Takeru’s eyes widened. “How did you...? Wait, fuck, you’re Blood Shepherd.”

“Yep.” Doujun drawled.

“Man, fuck you.” Takeru growled. “How long have you known?”

“All but a few days.” Dojun said.

“You’re a complete bastard, you know that, right?” Takeru asked. “Man, fuck you. If you weren’t such a prick, I’d still have Flame and Earth would still be alive and none of the Ignis would’ve had to suffer. Fuck you.”

“How noble of you to not count yourself in that tirade.” Dojun said.

“I couldn’t care less about how you treated me. I don’t care that you tried to open all my old wounds. It’s these new ones I care about.” Takeru mumbled.

He wasn’t curious anymore. He knew exactly how Dojun saw him now. The ass in lion’s skin, probably.

“I tried to do nice things for you here and there because, believe it or not, it doesn’t feel good to antagonise some kid and his pet here and there. I’m not some Saturday morning cartoon villain.” Dojun said. It might’ve been an apology, but it was difficult to tell.

“You dress like one.” Takeru said under his breath.

“I heard that, brat.” Dojun sneered.

“Fuck off.” Takeru said, flippant, deflating over the railing, chin against his hands. “But give me a cigarette first.”

“No.” Dojun spat. “But I am sorry. It might’ve been an Ignis who screwed us all over, but it was still an Ignis which managed to keep us alive. I’ll live with the guilt. Remorse. Whatever it is, but you don’t have to forgive me, Soulburner.”

“Thanks. Now can I please have a cigarette. Just one.” Takeru moaned. “If you were sorry, you’d give me one.”

“You could do well to learn some better manipulation tactics.” Dojun said.

“Fine.” Takeru huffed, stamping a foot. “I’m gonna go down and find some bin and fish out cigarette bums from there, I’m that desperate.”

Dojun made a face. Some revolted grimace. “Teenagers,” he muttered, “are fucking disgusting.”

Takeru laughed.

“Fine.” Dojun sighed. “Just one.”

Takeru grinned to himself. He got up and hefted himself onto the railing. Sitting with his legs over it and only one hand to ground him. Dojun scowled, reading to scold him it seemed but he seemed to be cussing out himself currently as he, one-handedly, freed another cigarette from his edgy looking cigarette case.

Dojun drifted closer to Takeru’s side of the balcony. From ground level, the balconies looked so self-contained and metres and metres away from each other. Turns out, that wasn’t the case at all and now, Dojun was slovenly dripping over the railing so he could get close to Takeru. A cigarette, all pristine and murderous, was pinched between his fingers and he lifted his hand to Takeru, still half hoping that Takeru would change his mind.

“Here you go. Just one. Promise me, you’ll quit after this one and you won’t go trying to scrounge up cigarette butts from gutters or whatever it is you filthy teenagers do these days. Fucking feral, we weren’t like that back in my day.”

“Don’t worry, I promise.” Takeru said as he accepted the cigarette from Dojun.

Up close, Takeru noticed that Dojun’s fingernails had a yellow tinge them. In a surprising moment of vanity. Takeru did decide that he didn’t want his hands to look like that one day so maybe he this would be the last cigarette that he ever smoked but he had some doubts.

“You really shouldn’t sit up there,” Dojun told him, pushing his cigarette case back into his jacket, “you could fall down and crack your head or something.”

“I know.” Takeru said and he readied the cigarette so Dojun could light it.

Dojun quietly got out his lighter. It was white. With his thumb, he hit the ignition down and the flame burst through. All white and blue. Takeru edged the tip of his cigarette into the fire and of course, being fire, it did depress him and reminded him of his Fire Ignis.

“Do you keep any lighters handy, Takeru?” Dojun asked in a mildly non-judgemental tone.

“Yeah.” Takeru said, the single syllable caught in his throat.

“What colours are they?” Dojun asked, disinterested.

“Red an’ blue. I only buy ‘em if they come in my favourite colours.” Takeru said.

“Good. Because there’s a legend. A white lighter’ll kill you.” Dojun said.

“Aren’t all lighters white underneath? Peeled back and stuff?” Takeru said, skin crawling as he readied himself for the first bite of his first cigarette in a long, long time.

Dojun clicked his tongue. “I think so.” He pocketed his white lighter. 


	9. First Kiss

Spectre had a striking profile.

The downward slope of his nose made him quite pronounced and his forehead was strange too, as were his brows just beneath. His eyes were big. Or maybe just seemed bigger than eyes ought to have been; they were pretty though, Ryoken thought, with bushels of prominent lashes on the bottom of his eyelids than atop and to say nothing of the concentric, heterochromatic blue that they were. Yes, Ryoken spent a lot of time looking at Spectre.

Something Spectre didn’t mind because he liked being seen, specifically by Ryoken. They were harmonious like that. Ryoken liked to observe, Spectre liked to be observed. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it but both could tell that he was starved for attention and Ryoken adored him after all.

Unlike Ryoken who was stuck in a rut of only been interested in a few things to spend his time, Spectre was a little more balanced. Obviously preferring solitary hobbies, Spectre had a whole cache of things that he liked to do. He enjoyed reading, cooking, gardening, knitting and needlework, even writing poetry and painting. Of course, in his creative pursuits, humans were rarely ever the subject of his endeavours. Not even Ryoken. He focused all his work on what could be politely put as natural motifs. Nature and scenes from it, particularly forest stills and the like given his origins but with a twist of surreal whimsy given his peculiar worldview.

The variety of the things that Spectre got up to have Ryoken more than enough entertainment. Spectre looked his best when he was absorbed in what he was doing, having fun and the like, or at least that is what Ryoken thought, even if it led to Spectre making some questionable faces on the interim. But at least he was enjoying himself.

There was something soothing, Ryoken found, in doing his own thing, such as reading the news or sorting his finances, whilst Spectre knitted, for example. The click of one needle accidentally hitting the other as he made a new tea cozy or whatever for himself was pleasant, Ryoken found.

Before Spectre came here, the house was silent. Eerily so, Ryoken thought in hindsight. His Father had always been a noiseless man, even before he fell comatose and being an only child, the house had usually been completely and oppressively quiet. Even when the assistants and the like visited, again before his Father fell comatose, it felt like they were visiting a morgue rather than the dwelling of a trusted companion and coworker. But since Spectre came, and perhaps more importantly stayed, the house came just that little more alive. Ryoken couldn’t describe it. 

And he was quite certain that Spectre would be aghast to learn that. He had always been left in the corner, after all. Ignored. Nigh forgotten. Completely silent in his own right as a child and even a human being. He was supposed to be a ghost, after all. Cold and dreadful, bringing such misery wherever he went but Ryoken didn’t find that to be the case at all. He found Spectre quite warm. Like a mug of tea. Perhaps lukewarm and yet another reference to things that Spectre liked to, such as making chamomile tea and his own blends since he was neutral on coffee unlike Ryoken who loved it. But so long as Spectre gave it to him, fingers brushing over one another as he accepted whatever mug or handled cup with saucer that it was, he would drink it.

He had nice hands, Spectre that is. How he made tea, bringing Ryoken his latest blend to sample for an outside opinion. How he held a pen as he wrote down another thought to make beautiful in prose and introspection. The way he held his cards, deeming them so precious that they were an extension of himself and his dear Tree Mother. It irked, Ryoken somewhat, that he was the first person in Spectre’s life to respect even one of his admittedly many eccentricities… 

Regardless, Ryoken admired Spectre’s profile. He liked to see how his face became mired with his thoughts with the matter at hand, absorbed by himself. Today, he was sketching some sort of scene from the Bible that he had translated into his own life experience, the baby cut in half by decree of the king to be divided between two equally unworthy mothers, that he seemed to have the intention of turning to watercolour or oil pastels. But given how he frowned, Ryoken suspected that there was some issue in composition that Spectre couldn’t quite clarify from his mind to paper.

From the other lounge, Ryoken noticed and let his voice enter that comfortable silence, no longer even punctuated by the scratch of a 2B pencil on paper, between them, “May I have a look?”

“Of course.” Spectre said, face softening.

Ryoken smiled and he got up. He slotted next to Spectre so he could lean in, touch his forearms on brushed accident, and look at Spectre’s private sketchbook. A sketchbook that Ryoken was want to violate but he tried to be stronger than such base curiosity willing to disregard boundaries and the like.

Ryoken’s eyes fell over the page in question, held in landscape. It depicted a grim but whimsical scene in monochromatics, a Leshy king and his elfin subjects, stringy gore of a desecrated baby connected the feral looking women.

“I think it looks good.” Ryoken said, tentatively. 

His eyes lifted and his gaze traced along Spectre’s cheekbones, the way his nose jutted out, his plump lips, his sharp chin. Everything about his face. A face which was one in a million yet blended seamlessly into crowds, aiding to dampen Spectre’s self esteem since he was forever mistaken and out of place, something which was a strange boon given their illicit occupations.

Ryoken breathed softly. Aware of how close he was to Spectre. And how his breath must tumble across his exposed skin.

Spectre turned slightly, to meet Ryoken’s gaze yet was still somehow immersed far too deep in his thoughts. The twinge of his brow which bowed, changed immediately when he saw how love struck Ryoken looked.

“Thank you,” Spectre said in lieu of something else, something self deprecating and now unrelated.

Unthinking, or maybe thinking too much, Ryoken leaned in and kissed Spectre. Spectre sighed into the kiss. Ryoken’s spirits soared and his heart fluttered. Spectre kissed back, surprisingly sweet. The tastes of lukewarm tea and coffee lingered between their mouths as they melted into one another in the kiss. Basked in late afternoon sunlight, in the middle of somewhat empty living room, chic and minimalist and totally not either of them in actuality.

With a regretful breath, Ryoken broke the kiss. He had a wispy feeling of gladness in his chest. He was glad, so unbelievably glad, that his and Spectre’s first kiss were under these domestic circumstances rather than anything else. He had always been hesitant to act on his attraction to Spectre, lest it further complicate their relationship not only with each other but with their mission but maybe, just for a demure moment, none of that had to matter and they could just be two people, mattering dearly to each other.

“Thank you,” Spectre murmured, with a tepid breath, he pushed his side fringe to behind his ear, only to have clay silver strands fall out of place again.

Ryoken couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The dual blues of his eyes were swirling but it was a kind look, on the whole. Satisfied. Just guarded. As needy as Spectre was, he tried to shackle himself to the bare minimum because that’s all he felt deserving of.

“I, um, think your art will look good. Maybe it just needs a bigger canvas than just the page.” Ryoken awkwardly suggested as neither of them wanted to talk about the kiss apparently.

“I think there is potential for a poem in that.” Spectre said. “I could draw inspiration from that as well, I really liked it… ”

Ryoken blinked. He could have blushed. Ryoken was familiar with Spectre’s body of work, weird and private and only for himself the artist, and he knew very well that Spectre’s modus operandi did not ever involve humans, at least not as the subject of his love.


	10. What You Don’t Want, What You Get

And so, Revolver and Spectre waited on those cliffs, white and sheer and jagged, waiting in palpable silence between commander and aid.

And so Soulburner, hand in hand with his most long standing friend Kiku, waited, scanning the horizons in search of signs of life, waited.

And so, those waiting, suffocated on the breath that they were holding.

That moment, so pristine and fateful, came and went without so much as a whimper of fanfare. That feeling of rightness and being so close to rightness passed. 

Playmaker found Ai. On the outskirts of life and death, he was found and rescued with darkness before them and light around them but it was not the latter that they returned to. Rather, Playmaker took his dear partner and his partner returned to his rightful place, inside his Duel Disc, and they vanished. Never to be seen again, never detected once in the network, and the body of enigmatic high schooler Fujiki Yusaku was never found either.

Not even purposefully hidden, just stowed away hand in rotting hand with yet another corpse, one which was not of flesh and blood and bone but rather of tin and steel and motor oil. But, hands entwined, heads lolling, and returned from whence they came. 

But his soul remained. Transferred into glimmering blue code and shafts of white, digital light. He did not die. Not traditionally anyway beyond the process of putrefaction which purified him of all things human, severing the bonds and arteries which made him as such.

Playmaker knew what he wanted. He wanted Ai, his Ai, and he wanted a home with him which would never be disrupted or disturbed. So, he fled. Deeper and deeper into the electronic abyss which whirred with constant streams and reams of information, burying and burying yet more. And inside it all, he found a place so hidden that a new world could be born.

A Neo Cyberse…

Between himself and Ai, no living flesh bodies to keep them bound, they managed to do what they had deemed impossible. They made themselves an afterlife and they were able to bring back their dear and dead. 

The reunions which followed, stars above knows how long it took, were tearful and harried and full of embraces which only parted when their beloved realised that something was not quite right.

There was a glitter of circuitry in Playmaker’s green eyes. There was a streak of possessiveness which had run far too rampant in Ai’s demeanour but it could only be this way. The simulations scared them into thinking otherwise. Their existences had to be hidden or else bloodshed would follow. Bloodshed which was far worse than what had already occurred. It was sad but undoubtedly true.

Flame kept tabs on Takeru. He couldn’t help it. He was doting like that and he did wish, dearly, that he could say hello once more but Takeru had grown up so big and strong, based on the surveillance that Flame was afforded. He had married Kiku not long after graduating high school and now he had babies on the way and Flame was utterly certain that Takeru would be a great father. He was so proud of his Origin, it couldn’t be understated.

Aqua was of a similar strain and virtue. She was happy. Her life’s goal of reuniting her precious Miyu with her precious Aoi had unfolded. It brought her tears of joy to know that they could hold each other once more and in what Aqua knew, they rarely could keep their hands off one another as though afraid they would be separated once more by the whims of fate and cruelties of time if they were to let go but they were happy. They were in love with one another. That’s all Aqua could ever want. Yes, they too had grown up big and strong as well.

But the other three Ignis could not have any of that, no matter how wistful and painful that Aqua and Flame found their discrete discoveries. 

Windy could have no such joys. His experiments in keeping eyes in this topside world of dirt and soil only led him to further ground things mired in grief. An obelisk dedicated to a life cut short. A life that he purposefully cut short.

Earth was left with little as well. Considering his Origin to be a bastard, an opinion that Ai and Playmaker couldn’t help but to share, and thereby seeing little purpose in keeping tabs and eyes on him because Earth was certain that he wouldn’t like what he would see. Though, he was still miffed that their relationship was naught but dust in the wind.

Lightning, too, in finality, was reaping what terrible, lonesome things that he had sown. There was no point in him believing that the third time was the charm with his Origin. So, he kept to himself. He never mentioned Haru and Bohman either; that, they found, was truly odd as what was another two interlopers when they had… Playmaker? Yusaku?

The human had become an anomaly among them.

More human than they were but his humanness had long since been considered finite. Perhaps even already completely and wholly dissipated.

He was Ai’s happy and willing little pet either way.

It was difficult to talk about the Origin of the Dark Ignis, because it seemed that he had long abandoned his identity as either Fujiki Yusaku or Playmaker. Returning to his state as Unknown, really. Especially since he was content to let Ai dress him and the like. No more dishevelled school uniforms, no more skin tight catsuits with admittedly horrendous colour schemes. No, he had traded that all in for Ai and Ai alone, it seemed, donning purple and ruffled collars and even a cape which had tassels trailing along its hem. He and Ai truly looked to be a perfect pair now. Faces nearly mirroring each other with the utmost symmetry.

And though he was very much Ai’s partner in every form that took (friend, confidante, lover, pet) and they were excruciatingly, even at times uncomfortably close, Ai was happy to loan him out to the other Ignis when they missed that contact with humans. Or things which looked like humans. He was content to provide… skinship with the other Ignis on the behalves of their Origins.

It was twisted, but nice, the Other Ignis found. Ai, of course, found it only nice. And the Origin of the Dark Ignis, he enjoyed it. His heart had never been more still than when he was here. 

It was a mild life, the Origin of the Dark Ignis thought.

A life filled with many afternoons spent basking in pleasant, lukewarm sunshine and listening to Data storms whirl and whistle. It was one spent with simulated breathing beside his beloved, Ai, and Ai’s kin. Lonesome but lonely together with their homes around them, floating, mostly stagnant and unchanging but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The bad things were on the outside. Where it was turbulent. Where the Origin of the Dark Ignis would be forced to remember which Kusanagi brother was which; was it Jin or was it Shuicihi who ran the hamburger truck? Where the Origin of the Dark Ignis would be forced to remember his own name long discarded.

Yes, he wouldn’t have it any other way and he didn’t think any of the others would have it differently either.

Why would they?

They were loved after all. By him and by Ai. His Ai. Forever and ever and ever.


	11. After The End

And so, the wonderful wizard of Oz, Ryoken, approached Aoi, horrified at what she had done, and gently touched her shoulder. His hand slipped down her arm, his fingers caressing her, before holding her hand.

“You’ve defeated the Wicked Witch of the West, what not?” Ryoken asked. “You have helped your three companions here find what they were after, proving yourself more magical and more wonderful than I, what not?”

“Are you going to go home?” Takeru, the once Cowardly, now Bravely Lion asked but that accursed whimper had returned to his voice. He had joined their crusade last and when he had joined, he had been unable to do so much as raise his voice because he was afraid of the volume of it. He wanted to be brave, that’s all he wanted and having faced down numerous dangers on the way to the Emerald City, he had more than earned and proved his courage.

He slotted in beside Aoi, holding her hand, possessively curled over the wicker arc of her little picnic basket which had her little pet puppy dog, Aqua, still happily asleep in it, completely blissful to the whole journey which had taken place. His tail flicked about behind as he awaited Aoi’s answer.

She still just stared ahead. Blank. The Emerald City behind her, the yellow brick path still in her mind but ahead, alas, was the empty domain of the wizard who was most certainly not wonderful. Just a liar and an observer.

“Or,” Yusaku asked, piping up and selfish, his tin body clinking as he crept closer to the group congregating before the remains of the Wicked Witch, “or are you going to stay?”

“Stay?” Aoi echoed.

“Yes, stay.” Yusaku affirmed. “Even I can tell you seem perturbed by this.”

Aoi’s lips twitched. For want of a heart, Yusaku had joined their little gang of people who wanted something: to go home, a brain, to overcome his fears, he had wanted a heart for he was a man of metal. More machine than anything else. He wanted a sense of sensitivity to help him understand those around him. Somewhere along the way, he had found a heart by befriending these oddballs beside and had shed tears when they were in danger and when they were happy. Even if those may rust him, Yusaku was more than happy having found a heart.

“She can’t stay.” Spectre the Scarecrow interjected. 

“And why not?” Yusaku asked, glaring.

“Yeah, why not?” Takeru asked.

“Because it’s only right. We got what we wanted, she should get what she wanted. Not to mention, we owe her that at the bare minimum, without her. We would still be there. Stuck in the mud, rusted in the forest, or afraid of our own shadow.” Spectre said with a derisive nod. Then, he added: “Anyone with even _ half _ a brain would realise that.”

Takeru backed down at having heard that. He supposed that what Spectre had reasoned was fair.

Spectre the Scarecrow who had been the first of the companions that Aoi met along the winding and weaving and even downright perilous path the yellow brick road had taken her had joined for what of a brain. He was a scarecrow and whilst he was proud of the field that he took care of, caring deeply for every tree and every root and every plant within the manicured boundaries, he had longed for more. To do more. So he could take yet better care of that field but he didn’t know how. He thought he needed a brain, to know what soil pH meant and to know what the best ways to till was, but, as it would turn out, all he needed was someone to validate his hard work. To tell him he was doing just fine and that’s exactly what had happened. He had plenty of smarts in the straw in his head. 

“It’s up to Aoi.” Ryoken said, squeezing her hand and grounding her.

Aoi blinked. He was right. 

And so said the Good Witch of the North, as well. All it would take was three clicks of her heels. Oh I wish I could go home, Oh I wish I could go home, Oh I wish I could go home: and that was all it would take and poof. She would wake up in her quaint little life again in Den City, largely ignored by her older brother, the neighbour threatening to have her precious little dog put down, feeling downtrodden and down on her luck. She was so, so lonely and bewildered back in Den City,

Aoi… wasn’t so sure she wanted that life.

It felt so brown. So beige. So sepia. So static.

It was so colourful in Oz. Yellow brick roads, rainbows in the sky, Emerald Cities. It was wonderful and gave her everything she craved. She had purpose, even if she was now backing on it. She had adventure here. Gosh, it hadn’t felt like all that long - a day at the most - but her heart had never stopped pounding, for better or worse. And best of all, she had companionship. She felt something very dear and near unto Yusaku, Takeru, and Spectre - even Ryoken, now, as well.

She glanced among these boys whom she had befriended and antagonised and befriended again. Yusaku’s green eyes glittered with the circuitry he was made of. Curious but tentative. Takeru’s ears had flattened against his head, into his mane as he waited, with a stiff upper lip, for Aoi to say something. Spectre had an unreadable expression on his face; it was, rather dumb looking down the slope of his nose but he was doing his best. Even Ryoken was waiting for an answer and he had this demeanour of awe about him, in the steadiness of his shoulders and in the expectant twitches of his fingers. 

Aoi licked her lips. She took a breath and she thought of how stagnant her life had been and how stagnant she feared it would become but she was ready for a change. Suddenly, her hair - twin pigtails, yes with plaits - felt too heavy on her head. She glanced down to the bucket and to the water and the puddle which was the witch which had pursued them. She stepped back a bit and she was let go from either side.

She half twisted around and in it her peripheries, caught sight of how she looked in the various, pristine reflections of the windows and walls of Ryoken’s domain.

“Does anyone have a pair of scissors on them?” she asked.

“Oh!” Spectre gasped as he checked his pockets, only to cringe. “I have pruning shears…”

Ryoken snapped his fingers. “No, but-” a pair manifested from his magic but meanwhile, “I do now.”

Aoi glanced between the two of them. “Spectre, Ryoken, would you do the honours of cutting my hair?” she asked.

“I think your hair looks fine as it is.” Spectre asserted.

“Mm-hm, but I think I’ve outgrown it.” Aoi said.

“Very well then.” Ryoken said.

“Yes, very well then.” Spectre added.

Aoi smiled. Bright and shining. Then, she beckoned the other two, “Yusaku, Takeru, would you mind catching my hair when its chopped?”

“That’s… a little weird but okay.” Takeru replied.

“What he means is: anything for you, Aoi.” Yusaku said.

“Thank you.” Aoi murmured.

She let the young men approach her. Yusaku and Takeru stood in front of her, framing her and her reflection; Spectre and Ryoken stood behind her, shears and scissors poised respectively. Takeru and Yusaku reached up, taking the ends of her hair delicately in their hands. With difficult and struggling snips, Spectre and Ryoken cut through her hair. After three good cuts, the twin pigtail-plaits finally came loose and ribbons came undone, fluttering to the ground, whilst Yusaku and Takeru removed them delicately.

It hurt the roots, just a little bit but Aoi felt satisfied with the result. She was lighter. Happier. And when she opened her eyes, she got very quickly used to the new reflection in front of her. All scuffed and scruffy brunette bob with scraggly ends but she didn’t mind it. Not one bit. It looked better than before in its imperfection.

“What now?” Takeru asked, awkwardly clutching onto one of the two plaits cut free from Aoi’s head.

“I’m going home.” Aoi said but in a seemingly contradictory statement, she kicked off the sparkly ruby slippers she had on.

“Pardon?” Ryoken spoke up. “You can’t go home if you don’t use the magical slippers.”

“I can.” Aoi said, uppity and all-knowing.

Spectre had a gleaming look in his sewn on blue eyes. It seemed he had cottoned on quicker than the other three.

“I can go home with all four of you, if I stay in Oz and at the moment, I have no intention of leaving this place. Home will be where we make it.” Aoi said. She turned around, stepped closer to Spectre on her left. “If you will have me, of course. And I want you there,” she kissed his cheek, his cheek was scratchy with the hessian it was made of and with the straw it was stuffed frugally with, “and I want you there,” she spoke to Yusaku this time, stepping closer to him and pecking his cheek, it was cold to the touch of her lips, and then moved onto Takeru, “and you there,” she said and she caressed his furry face before kissing his cheek, he was so soft and plush, and then she moved around to Ryoken, and smiled: “And I want you there too, as well.” She kissed his cheek as well with a smile.

Ryoken sighed, put a hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly, “I suppose that I have no choice.”

“I would follow you into the fires of Hell, Aoi.” Takeru told her with a genuine expression, eyes alight.

“It would be my pleasure, Aoi.” Yusaku added with a calm smile on his shiny, silver face.

“As long as I get to return to my field once in a while, I see no issue in being with you a little longer.” Spectre replied.

Aoi beamed. “Thank you all so very much.” she gushed.

With a clearer conscience, Aoi took the cut plaits of her hair which Yusaku and Takeru were still awkwardly holding onto. She placed them in the bucket, she pulled it up right, some water still in the edges of it and she thought a quick prayer for the Wicked Witch of the West on her knees and got up again. Aqua, her little pet dog, lifted her head from the rim of the picnic, only to snooze again, happy.

Takeru and Yusaku interlinked their arms with Aoi once more. Spectre tacked himself onto Yusaku and Ryoken, feeling gawky to include himself in their thing, did the same by holding onto Takeru’s arm.

“We were off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz,” Aoi began to sing as they made their way, together, out of Ryoken’s now abandoned domain, only to lose tune but Ryoken piped up in place of her next lyric.

“We’re off to see the world, the wonderful world of Oz,” he suggested, singing the tune a little bit endearingly wrong, and Aoi giggled.

“We’re off to see the world, the wonderful world of Oz.” sang Spectre, Takeru, and Yusaku.

Aoi laughed again and they had made it once more on the yellow brick road but suddenly, it felt like they didn’t have to stay on the yellow brick road. Beneath her giddiness, Aoi took a deeper breath. It was her turn.

“We’re off to see the world, the wonderful world of Oz.” she sang and then, with a pounding heart, she was able to sing what ought to come next: “Because, because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things there are to do, together, if there was ever a whiz of a world as Oz.”


	12. You Thought They Were Bad

Thwack, thwack, thwack: the rhythm was steady and Aoi was enchanted by every machination which went into. She found it quite shameless. How they practiced their swordsmanship in the yard, clad in their kendo uniforms from only the waist down. As the mid-morning sun shone down on them, it made their sweat glitter.

Whilst there were two of them practicing, alongside each other, not against each other, it was Bohman whom Aoi was hopelessly fixated with. He was her partner, after all. She held her breath as she watched him bring down that bamboo sword against unseen foe after unseen foe. He was beautiful, she thought. His form, his technique, Aoi was certain, despite having no experience, was perfect. It had to be, she couldn’t imagine Bohman producing anything less than a perfect result.

“Hm, it sure is a pretty sky today, huh?” Miyu teased her. Poked her, too.

“Miyu!” Aoi exclaimed, jumping out of the heavy kimono.

Miyu giggled impishly beside her, nudging her. 

“Hm, if my Ryoken and your Bohman got into a duel, who do you think would win?” Miyu asked, half humming as her own eyes cast down on her own partner.

“I think that’s regressive to ask.” Aoi murmured, blushing. “We are all allies, I see no point in in-fighting.” She pouted and smacked her friend. “I also think its quite possessive to claim them as ‘mine’ or ‘yours’.”

“But they are though. Our little human soldiers.” Miyu said and she sighed. She handed a fluffy white towel to Aoi. “By the way, Ema wants you and Bohman to report to her office in half an hour so enjoy go and enjoy your human man up close and personal with this handy dandy little excuse.”

“Miyu, you should start with that, not end with that. That sounds important.” Aoi said, her fox ears flattening against her fluffy bob of hair with irritation.

“Whatever, you go be a stick in the mud, I’ll admire the scenery.” Miyu said and she inched closer to the upper storey’s deck railing. She sighed, all but melted, over it when she touched it, visibly salivating for her partner which Aoi thought was highly unprofessional.

But she also considered herself unprofessional. She considered it unprofessional to feel inappropriately timid around her partner. She couldn’t help it. What if he harboured malice for her and other half-Spirits but merely suppressed it? What if he found out about her powers? The questions were terrifying but Aoi approached him on the ground level regardless, holding onto that towel with stiff hands.

On both Ema and Miyu’s behalf, Aoi passed on the message to Bohman. He thanked her sincerely, looking down on her with trusting eyes and he accepted the towel she had with her. He dabbed his thick neck and brow with it. He nodded and told Aoi that he would be prompt.

Half an hour later, a few minutes passed the time that Ema had allotted them, they both stood in front of her desk. Ema looked over her notes, paw in paw and down the line of her grey-white snout. There was a tense air about them all - or maybe Aoi was imagining it, her own nervousness projected outwards. She held her hands as she waited for Ema’s instructions. Bohman’s face, from what Aoi could tell in her peripheries, was neutral. Strong. Nigh unreadable, unfortunately.

“The time has come for you two to go on your first solo mission.” Ema said with a sigh as she looked up from her notes.

“I will succeed your expectations and I vow to keep Aoi safe.” Bohman said.

Ema smiled. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but it seems cut and dry but I believe that Aoi’s power will prove quite useful.”

“Oh?” Aoi gasped, eyes widening and hackles raising.

Bohman glanced curiously towards her. “Power?” he murmured. 

“The pair of you merely have to collect a certain item from a certain store and return it to us. Once we have the item in our collection, we will begin phase two and investigate it and its origins. Speaking with the owner of said item, noting her input and the like will also be appreciated though but she sent us a reasonable account with her inquest.” Ema said and she pushed a piece of paper towards Aoi and Bohman. “Simply go to this location.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Bohman said and he accepted the piece of paper.

“I hope you both enjoy yourselves today as, as far as missions go, this is very simple. But perhaps it’s too simple? So, remain alert.” 

“Understood, thank you, Ema.” Aoi added shyly.

“You two are dismissed.” Ema nodded.

With that, the meeting was dismissed and Bohman escorted Aoi outside. Despite the fact his curiosity was piqued, in regards to what Ema had said earlier about Aoi, he did not pry. He simply kept his head up high and the location in mind.

It was because his head was up high, Bohman couldn’t notice something regarding his companion’s demeanour. But, he ignored it and instead listened in to the clop, clop, clop of her zouri. 

Aoi trained her own ears onto the noise as well. Anything to disregard her surroundings, sheltering herself inwards, her eyes following the clouds of displaced dust and dirt on the beaten path through the stranger parts of the shopping district. Anything to distract herself from the atmosphere. An atmosphere which Bohman was slowly cluing himself into.

It was humiliating. The warmth of the overhead sun once mild was now unbearable to all those beneath it. Around them, with a fantastic distance kept, there were people whispering and terse, crowned with disgusted looks and cruel eyes from onlookers. People who had, up until they passed by, been minding their own business, but now these men and women, even children, alike felt entitled to putting the soldier and the Hanyou in their place. 

Bohman glanced around, as discretely as he could, only to return his gaze to Aoi. He paused where he had been walking and allowed Aoi a few more steps so that she could stand beside him but that felt oddly unnatural to them. Looking down at her, he noticed that she was looking down in turn. Just like he suspected.

“Aoi,” Bohman murmured and he started to walk again, to Aoi’s increasing anxiety, “when we are off the grounds of the Ministry of Spirit Affairs’ building, you look at the ground when you walk. Is there a reason for that?”

Aoi was quiet. Her eyes, a beautiful brown like a bronze freshly unearthed from the ore, turned dark. Harsh with fear. Her lips quibbled. But she found her voice.

“Yes, Bohman, sir,” she murmured, “there is. I - I don’t like being stared at. Othered.” Her tail behind her grew limp, pressed against her garb in some tight and futile pursuit of disappearing but all it could do was become flat.

“I understand.” Bohman said, deeply empathetic.

He lifted his head and took a deep breath. Aoi watched as his shoulders rippled with the inhale and the exhale. He stepped in front of her. She blinked, surprised, and when he twisted around, slightly, to check on her, his eyes were so kind.

“Allow me to walk in front of you, I don’t mind the strange looks but I do mind that you are hurting when you walk.” Bohman said.

Aoi’s heart pounded being told such things and having such things demonstrated to her. Her eyes congregated along the crevices and folds of Bohman’s soldier uniform, a bleak yet forested green, and she was once more awed by the size of his body. He had such a broad back, Aoi thought to herself, cheeks flushing as for the first time in a long, long time, she could keep her chin up in public. As they walked together, Bohman leading her, Aoi did not once feel the creeping, probing and vile gazes of those who did not approve of her, the Hanyou, the half-spirit. It was as though Bohman had become her world, the entirety of it, and Aoi was enchanted by it.

They arrived at their destination safely, unbothered and undisturbed and not once were they ever out of synch. Aoi did not once accidentally nudge Bohman for one walked at the wrong pace for such coordinated movements. Bohman never walked too fast nor too slow for her. He was just right.

It was only in the shade of the overhanging pavilion, with a sign in English to title the rather humble looking building - Queen, it read - that they stepped out of line with each other. Aoi looked around and noticed another sign, by the door frame, with Japanese text which claimed this place would sell everything under the sun, that text, in turn, was graced with yet more English: S-O-L, it read. Aoi felt secretly pleased with herself that she could read it, though she wasn’t certain as to what it meant. She quite liked the extra studying, after all, even if Miyu was still quite protestful of their English lessons.

“Hello?” Bohman quietly called out as he stepped inside the doorway of the shop. He glanced back over towards Aoi and beckoned her closer.

They hovered through the shop together. It was tightly bound and packed with all sorts of things: Niceties, oddities, all sorts of things which intrigued them. Pretty glass bottles of perfume, urns tied to the ceiling, a mix of Japanese and western confections and the like - and that was just what Aoi could identify, awkwardly stumbling through the quiet shop.

A shop which was quiet up until a sliding door towards the back of the shop slammed open.

“Madame!” a voice yelled. “Madame, we have guests!”

Aoi stumbled into one of the aisles and she got a better view of the person yelling out such things. She was a young woman, surprisingly tiny for her age, about twenty-five, and she had wavy hair and was dressed in a simple, blue kimono. She had a cute, button nose and horns on her head.

Bohman drew in closer to Aoi, brushing up against her, putting a hand on her shoulder, unthinkingly, “Is this a shop for spirits?” he asked.

“I don’t think so…” Aoi murmured, her shoulder burning hot where Bohman touched her, a good sort of hot. “I feel like Ema would have mentioned it.”

The woman turned her head from the back of the shop, ears, elongated and pointed, pricked up. She laughed this horrible raucous laugh.

“This shop is for anyone who has money to spend.” she said. “Call me Risa, I work here. Madame is just a bit weird, she’s happy to employ demons like me.”

“Who’re you calling weird?” 

A second woman, far taller and much more buxom, clad in a kimono which was practically slipping off her desirable figure, appeared behind the second one. Playfully, she knocked the back of the first woman’s head; she laughed awkwardly at the tease. 

“Welcome, I’m Queen and I’m the owner of this establishment. I take it that you two are the that the Ministery of Spirit Affairs sent?” she asked.

“Yes, we are here about an item of dubious quality.” Bohman said.

“Excellent, we will discuss in my back room then, Risa, my darling, go fetch us some tea and other light refreshments.” Queen said.

“Of course, mistress.” Risa chirruped.

Risa scurried away from the door frame and Queen beckoned Aoi and Bohman closer. Bowing slightly to her, the pair came inside and were greeted with a very western affair of a backroom, as compared to the more traditional, Japanese stylings of the main shopfront. They sat down on nice, wooden chairs with intricately carved backs, embedded with velour pillows and at a table which was high and delicate. They sat in the provided chairs, straight-backed, and waited for Queen to bring the item back to them.

She retrieved it from the locked drawers in the room, from the very top draw, and she regarded it with the utmost digression. She sat it, very stiffly, on the table and unfolded the lilac silk that it was swathed in. Unveiled, the item, in question, was seamlessly identified as a katana. It glimmered in the low light of the electric lamp fixed to the room’s ceiling and Aoi was vastly unsettled by it. She glared at it, heart hammering, not once unstitching her eyes from it with both fear and contempt; not even when Risa, ever cheery, had brought back green tea and rice crackers in clay crockery.

“Thank you, Risa.” Queen told her, reaching out towards her and strokign her hands as she settled the tray.

“Thank you, mistress.” Risa replied as she sat down.

Queen’s gaze slid towards Aoi. “Is something the matter Miss.... pardon me, I don’t seem to have your names yet.”

Aoi breathed a sigh of relief. She could have sworn that she was about to be addressed as “Miss Hanyou” but thankfully not. She attempted to smile but her lips merely twitched. She still spoke though.

“Aoi… my name is Zaizen Aoi but calling me Aoi is fine…” she mumbled.

“Our apologies for not introducing ourselves sooner.” Bohman added. “My name is Matsuda Bohman.”

“Lovely to meet you both.” Queen said.

“Yes, yes, wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Risa replied with all the yip of a small dog.

“So, Miss Aoi, you seem to have opinions on this sword, what are they?” Queen asked.

Aoi swallowed. “It’s evil.” she murmured. 

Her eyes fastened themselves on that elegant handle of the sword’s. She fixated on the sight of that sword. It was gorgeous. Gleamed in the light, had a pristine edge and a back, dark and as black as the night, on its other side. The handle was a rare, purple colour. Again, dark and deep. It had a tassel charmed with a protective amulet which lolled to the side of. But, to the humans and to Risa, it was just an object. Beautiful and deadly. But to Aoi, she resented it - and quite openly at that.

Bohman glanced at her. He had never seen Aoi so visibly animated before and with such terror woven with disgust. He quirked his brows. With his curiosity piqued, he attempted to reach for it.

“Absolutely not!” Aoi yelled, fangs bared, eyes slitted.

Risa and Queen froze where they sat so prettily. They were taken asunder. Surprised that such a loud noise could come from such a small and quiet girl.

Bohman stopped, mid-air, and obeyed the order that Aoi had barked at him. He returned his hands to his lap. He looked up from Aoi, face placid and neutral, and turned his attention onto Queen.

“How did you obtain this weapon?” Bohman asked.

Queen sighed and she sipped some tea, malcontent. “A man. He visited this store about a week ago, telling me that he, in turn, obtained this sword through an illicit channel. He didn’t elaborate but for records keeping purposes, I did get his name and address but I suspect that its alias.”

“Anything is better than nothing.” Bohman assured her.

“He called himself Kusanagi Shoichi, here, I’ll make a note of his address if you so wish to pursue him.” Queen said.

She snapped her fingers and Risa bolted from the table so she could fetch her mistress a pen and paper. It was quite remarkable how subservient the girl was to her mistress or madame or whatever else she called Queen. 

Risa found a pad and gave Queen a quill as well. She smiled a strangely gentle smile.

“Thank you, dear.” Queen said as she wrote down the address. She sighed once more. “I accepted the sword because it wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve sold here with a dubious origin but something about this sword. Well, you said it yourself, Miss Aoi, it’s evil.”

“May I wrap it up?” Bohman asked.

Aoi nodded but her eyes remained so stringently against the very aura which the sword emanated. She took another breath and she felt the room swirl and tighten. Her cheeks paled. It all happened so fast. She blacked out, fainted briefly, and she had no recollection of how the others panicked as they watched such a thing occur.

Bohman escorted Aoi not only out of the room but out of the shop. They found a little spot to themselves, in the back garden hidden, and Aoi breathed steadily until she could open her eyes again. But when she did, she panicked.

Bohman was too close. He was too mindlessly affectionate with her - protectively touching her, moving her so she could be fine. It was too much!

She recoiled, only to feel bad for recoiling. Her tail swished around her and she hid beneath the shaggy overhang of her fringe. She glanced around the garden. It was untidy and somewhat overgrown but homely with the natural long-grasses and hydrangeas, both blue and pink and even some in-between, peeking out of the shrubbery along the erected fence.

“I’m sorry.” Aoi mumbled.

“Don’t be.” Bohman curtly assured her.

Aoi swallowed. She wondered if she ought to explain herself or if she should let it go. She stole a glance at Bohman. He was so guarded. She couldn’t make heads or tails of him, if he was fine with letting this be a mystery or if he wanted to know and if he did want to know, then why?

It was difficult.

“Miss Zaizen?” 

Aoi lifted her head and she saw Risa behind them, in the door frame, with yet another tray of things. This time, paper folds of medicine and water.

“I have medicine for you. Good for bouts of anemia.” Risa told her.

“Thank you.” Aoi murmured.

Risa sat down, on the steps into the garden, with Aoi and Bohman. Aoi accepted the paper and she put its lips to her own, tipping it up and with the best of her abilities, she swallowed the fine powder which followed, tumbling down the slope. She cringed as she accepted the bitterness. Risa laughed at her and Aoi quickly followed up by taking a swig from the glass cup Risa had.

“Thank you.” Aoi said again.

She glanced at Risa. She was so pretty, Aoi thought. It was that joy which she exuded which made her so pretty. Aoi had never known a demon to be so happy. Her eyes caught on a comb which Risa had tucked into the sash around her waist.

Risa seemed to notice. “Curious?” she asked and she drew it out from its safe keeping. It was yellow with what seemed to be pink roses painted onto it but it was old, some of that art had flaked. It seemed incredibly well-loved, even now Risa played with the ends of her fringe, raking through them with it. “It's a memento of my older sister.”

“That’s lovely.” Aoi murmured.

“I don’t remember much of her, admittedly. We were separated a long, long time ago.” Risa said, she sounded mournful and nostalgic. She offered her comb to Aoi. “You remind me a little bit like me. I bet you have an older sister as well.”

“Older brother.” Aoi said then quickly added, “He’s a human though. His father married my mother, merging our families when I was six years old… He didn’t mind that I was a Hanyou or that- or that my mother was…”

“A demon?” Risa guessed.

Aoi shook her head. “No, she was human as well. She was spirited away and came back pregnant with me. She never spoke about her experience.”

“Oh, you poor thing, you speak of her as though she has passed… I take it that she has?” Risa asked, her voice soft with sympathetic grief.

Aoi nodded. Risa sighed and she couldn’t help herself. She scooted in closer to the Hanyou and without a single utterance of permission, Risa tried to brush Aoi’s hair with the very comb she held. The teeth of the comb brushed Aoi easily, it didn’t hurt even if Risa’s technique was not great but Aoi stiffened still at the touch. Her eyes widened. She saw something.

Something in the distant past. She saw two young girls, one was about six and Aoi recognised as so distinctively Risa with that button nose of hers, the other perhaps twelve, both were wavy haired and horned, playing around with each other’s hair, reading to one another, and just being general and fond sisters but it only took seconds for such mundane, domestic bliss to be cut, sharp and unclean. A stranger approached, a hulking man who made a racket through their house, unwelcome, a human, no horns, stinking of liquor and dragging a sword behind him.

The older sister lunged at Risa. Protecting her, shielding her. She was killed for her efforts. The way the blood followed through the wake of how that sword was slashed about was gut wrenching and yet not a stray drop had splashed that little girl form of Risa. But that didn’t make it any less horrifying.

Even after the vision strayed. Aoi was returned to the present, to where she was, half cuddled up with Risa by her side and with Bohman adjacent, watching her, intrigued and perhaps even alarmed that something had clearly happened to Aoi. It was evident in the way her kit brown eyes trembled, how the pupils turned to slits and how her eyes watered.

“Are you okay?” Risa asked, her voice sounded watery.

“I’m fine.” Aoi lied. “Just. Tired. I - I miss my brother, all of a sudden.”

“Deep down, we’re all just little girls still, aren’t we, you poor dear. I’m just glad that you’ll see him later, yeah? Your brother?” Risa murmured.

Aoi nodded. “Yeah, and I’m sure your sister will come home one day as well.”

She wasn’t sure if spouting off fairy tales to this older demon was worth it but it seemed the sympathy was well met. Risa smiled, a little shaky.

“Thank you, Aoi.” she said, her voice a blow of air and she regretfully got up, dusting herself down. “I might be off again, for a bit. I still have some chores to do around the shop.”

“I don’t want to keep you then.” Aoi replied.

Risa bowed and she pardoned herself. The backyard felt a lot emptier without her in it. Silence permeated the distance between Aoi and Bohman. Yet, they kept trying to cross that distance regardless, unable to due to that oppressive quietness. 

But they didn’t have to break the silence.

Someone else did it for them, in them in the minutes which passed. A clang and clatter came from indoors. The sound of which immediately propelled Aoi and Bohman to their feet. They re-entered through the back door and saw Hayami, sprawled out on the floor, nursing her head and muttering. When she saw them, she laughed. At her hands and feet, shards of a broken teapot and matching set were scattered about. 

“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to cause any alarm. I’m just. Clumsy.” she lamented, self deprecating. 

Aoi breathed a sigh of relief but it was far too soon for such a thing.

Hayami’s hand floundered as she reached up, trying to find the flat of the table, or even just its edge, to hold onto until she got her footing but she grabbed, aimlessly, at the overhang of the fabric the sword, improperly put away, still lying out, evil and glowing, and she pulled it down.

Aoi’s eyes widened. She lunged. Unthinking. She snatched the sword away, hilt first, before it could do so much as touch a single hair on Hayami’s head. The fabric the sword had been coiled in, slipped to the floor.

Annoyed, Queen finally made her reappearance from the other entrance of the backroom. She still had a smoking pipe in her delicate fingers. Her scowl was less than palpable as her eyes darted about the room. 

The realisation that something was wrong was immediate.

Aoi’s body stiffened, only to relax and to take a masculinely comfortable demeanour. Her eyes burned in unnatural colours; the brown turned to a molten gold. Her pupils became slitted, dangerously narrow. Her ears stood erect at the top of her head as she shuffled around, slovenly and confident. 

“Aoi?” Risa prompted her.

Aoi didn’t respond. At least not verbally - or even sweetly.

She prepared her sword. Her movements languid, as though savouring the increasing fear in Risa’s eyes.

“Aoi?” Risa spoke again.

Aoi raised the sword above her head. Breathing through her mouth, she slashed downwards. The sword cut through the air all too easily. In its bloodthirtsty swish, Queen lunged. She grabbed Risa and kept her pinned to the floor. Anything to protect her, Queen was willing to sacrifice it all. Her smoking pipe on the floor. Smelling of sweet tobacco amid tea stains on the tatami floor.

In the haste and in the slow of it, all Bohman made his move. He drew forth his sword, sheathe and all, he smacked it across Aoi’s lower back. She stopped. Bohman sighed, hoping that he had stopped her but he took no chances, he hastily ripped out his sword, western in style, ornate and militaristic. Aoi took another breath. Her shoulders heaped up and down with them. Swiftly, she turned around on her dainty foot and to make a quick riposte. A downward fence which Bohman stopped with his own blade.

The clash of metal to metal had the walls of the room, growing ever claustrophobic, shrieking. 

Risa cowered beneath Queen. Queen’s body was warm and terrified, it was in the makeup of her face. Both the way she painted it and the way she had been born with it. She was just so glad - so, so glad - that Risa was safe, even if she wasn’t. The scene all too reminiscent of a memory Risa had for so long it echoed back to her as a wistful nightmare. She shed tears whilst Bohman shed blood.

Aoi’s attacks were vicious. Ruthless. Completely and utterly uncharacteristic of her. Her onslaught had Bohman against the wall. Even his precise and refined technique, of defence and of offence, was pitiful against the rage which manifested from Aoi as she attacked him. Slash after slash, stab after stab. Anything to draw blood from him. She was merciless but he was stalwart.

His arm was steady as he defended himself to the best of his ability. But his heart ached. This was not the Aoi that he knew. He didn’t want to hurt her and having that sympathy for her, even for a second, the very same second it took for a bead of his sweat to dribble so much as a centimetre down the side of his face, was his downfall. His steady will and arm chipped. Jist slightly. Just enough to cause a bend or bow in the muscles of his forearm and that was enough for Aoi to finally land that callous and bloodthirsty strike.

She lunged forward, breathtaking in how savagely she went for his stomach with the aim of disemboweling him. Afraid, for the first time in a long, long time, Bohman let instinct take over. His free left hand surged forward and the tip of the blade pierced through his hand. He could see its tip between his knuckles on the back of his head. Blood squeezed through what little there was between the blade and the viscera of his hand.

It dripped onto the floor. Pooling.

It reflected in the peculiar gold of Aoi’s eyes and terror took over. Remorse took over. Overwhelming and overpowering that which possessed her and she dropped the sword. It clanged on the hard ground, biting into the blood already spilt. Aoi awakened. The real Aoi, gentle and caring. Her eyes reverted to normal, to that dark and earthy brown, only for that normalcy to be eaten and rusted by guilt.

“Oh goodness,” she gasped, hands shaking as she hid her face, “what have I done?”

Bohman flashed her a serene smile, closed eyes and genuine. “Thank goodness, your safe.”

Tentatively, Queen crawled off Risa. Risa, still afraid, slowly rose from how she had been pinned to the ground. Her hair a mess and her eyes wide with fear. Queen shook her head.

“Just what the hell was that?” Queen asked.

“I saw it.” Aoi cryptically stated. “A blood moon, a slaughter. That katana was responsible for countless killings: man, woman, child, young or old - none were spared from the madness. Even now. That sword.”

“It would possess whoever holds it and turn them into a puppet to its bloodthirst?” Bohman estimated. As he spoke, with much difficulty, he sheathed the sword which he had fought back with.

Aoi nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“At least it’s all over.” Queen’s voice was like a hiss, irate and frustrated but with relief. “I want that sword out of my shop. As soon as possible, snap, snap, but do something about the blood first.”

“Thank you for protecting me, Queen.” Risa whispered to her, cautiously reaching out to Queen who seemed to be looking for her pipe now.

“I’m just glad you're alright, Risa.” Queen murmured, unable to look at Risa.

Bohman took a breath through his nose and Queen got up. She found both her pipe and the cloth which he wrapped the sword up. She was careful as she stood around it, stepping closer to Bohman and roughly shoving the cloth towards him. She disappeared out the back entrance and started to suck on the mouthpiece of her pipe.

Aoi watched, with a heavy heart and cautious eyes, as Bohman wrapped up the sword. She was terrified that Bohman might succumb to the katana’s atmosphere and become possessed by it and she knew she wasn’t as strong as him. She couldn’t face him down, someone dear to her, and keep steady ground on two feet, upright but thankfully, no such things came to pass. With one hand, he tied the cloth up tight and returned the sword back on top of the table.

Risa, still shaken from being nearly killed, provided Aoi and Bohman with a medical kit and then disappeared for a bit. She needed the space. But they didn’t. 

They sat on the floor together. Where Bohman had been backed up against the blade when Aoi had wielded it. Now, she was trying to mend what she had done to him. She disinfected the wound and now, she was bandaging him up, impossibly tight. It was therapeutic for them both. The repetitive movement of winding up the bandages over and over again.

“I think I understand now.” Bohman murmured. “Why we were assigned to this case.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Aoi asked in a tiny voice, there were tears in her eyes.

“Of course not, why would I?” Bohman asked in reply.

“Most humans find it disgusting.” Aoi said. “With just a touch, I can delve into the memories of objects and people alike. The empathy I experience through my power is harrowing.”

“I think its wonderful.” Bohman said.

With a careful and gentle hand, Bohman placed his uninjured hand over Aoi’s. She was shocked, mildly, by the gesture. Never before had someone willingly submitted themself to her powers. She closed her eyes and she saw it.

A beautiful field. A spring day. All long grass dancing in the wind, beneath an endless blue sky with a lukewarm sun above. And there he was, Bohman, in the middle of it. Wandering, aimless, hopeless, and Aoi found it peculiar. He was an adult man but this was his earliest memory. She didn’t understand but she followed along this Bohman. To the edge of the field and he met a child, a small blonde boy who smiled pitifully at him. They weren’t related but they became “brothers”. It was rather sweet.

Sweet right up until they were separated after so long of journeying together for quite a while. Something happened to that boy, Haru, Aoi thought he was called, that’s what Bohman called him. He was killed. Aoi’s heart ached as she recanted through the memories that Bohman had of having Haru cremated and scattered his ashes in that field where they had met. Not even able to put up a memorial for his little brother because he had no money. No identity.

Aoi took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“I joined the army for Haru’s sake. They were the only ones willing to take me on. A man with no identity. No name except for the one that Haru gave me but they gave me papers and told me that perhaps my memories were taken by a spirit or the like as there was not a wound on me at the time. Hence why I was assigned to this division but I’m glad I’m here now. As I am, because I got to meet you, Aoi.”

Bohman closed his eyes and Aoi was swathed, so warmly, with the feeling of a pleasant spring day on her body. On her head and her shoulders but in her heart and soul as well. She was left breathless by this beautiful feeling. Bohman was so serene, she appreciated it.

“I’m a man of few words, I would appreciate it if you read my mind.” Bohman said in a low and quiet voice.

Aoi licked her lips. She could have swooned as she was swamped with this nigh infinitesimal serenity which Bohman exuded from the inner most of his internal recesses. It was wonderful. Like sunshine. It soothed her. She felt beloved by it.

“Thank you for forgiving me.” she said, finally a smile on her face. 

Emboldened by such kind words, Bohman embraced Aoi suddenly. She buried her face against his broad breast and hugged him back. She sucked in a tickling breath, only to cry and Bohman stroked her back. The more she touched him, the more she craved the warmth and serenity that emanated from so deep within him. 

“Can you read my mind?” Aoi whispered.

She smiled when she felt Bohman’s answer reverberate through her body. She felt protected and comforted by him; she wanted this embrace to never end but they were still on duty so their arms slowly slid away from one another. Aoi finished up treating Bohman’s wound and with that, they could finally take their leave.

Bohman protectively held onto the katana, through the confines of its sealing silk, and with Aoi by his side, they said goodbye to Risa and Queen. They had been sitting out front together on the front storefront’s steps, Queen’s hand over Risa’s, and sharing that smoking pipe between each other. Lipstick smears now on the mouthpiece but neither seemed to care. They perked up somewhat as they allowed Aoi and Bohman to pass around them, stepping onto the road which in the turn would take them out on the street and they could finally go home together.

“You two take care now.” Queen said, half-defeated sounding. It had been an exhausting day for everyone, after all.

“We will.” Aoi promised and she bowed her head slightly.

“And remember to hug your brother real tight tonight, Aoi, for me, please?” Risa murmured.

“Yes, absolutely.” Aoi replied, perhaps a little too fast.

Bohman glanced at her and then towards the sunset. The city was being dyed so dark with the oncoming dusk and yet, the sky itself was such a bright and burnt vermilion regardless. He thought it was quite the sight but it was the instance of getting late.

“We will contact you if we require assistance in our investigation of this katana, until then, farewell. Aoi and I should be going.” Bohman said.

“Have a safe trip.” Queen wished them, her words tumbling out of her voice on an exhaled breath.

Aoi and Bohman bowed to Queen and Risa once more. The two ladies farewelled them, with that, Aoi and Bohman took their leave. Aoi once more walking rather confidently behind Bohman, chin up and her gaze drilling a hole between his shoulder blades. Bohman, of course, not minding one bit as they made their way through the district and back to the train station they had used earlier.

With the sword carefully stowed on one side of Bohman, Aoi slotted in against Bohman’s right side. She rested against him, tired, drowsy, and held his hand. She played with his fingers, just slightly, and her ears relaxed as she yawned. She had a feeling that she - or perhaps, they, the both of them - were being stared at but for some reason, she didn’t care. She was far too relaxed by Bohman’s eternal serenity that he exuded. 


	13. Morning After

Once upon a time there was a lonesome woodcutter.

His name was Earth and he lived well into the mountains, a good three to six day’s journey down it would take him to walk to the nearest village. He lived by himself, not even so much as a pet for company, and whilst he was content to live this way as his earnings were meagre, he couldn’t help but to yearn for more.

It was worse in the winter. When the days were short and when the nights were long. He wished dearly to have somebody in bed with him, to help keep each other warm. Someone to make the dreary, rainy days light up with joy with jokes and someone to eat soup with in the evenings and so on and so forth.

He could tolerate his loneliness in the spring and summer, when he had at least birds to observe and plants to look at but it was when such frivolous, sunny days turned autumnal and then to snow did he long for companionship. And tonight was the Winter Solstice. The worst of it all. A terrible, terrible snow storm raged outside, well into the night and Earth could do nothing before Mother Nature’s coldest worst but to watch with a mug of soup.

The snowstorm rattled his humble abode but he still felt comfortable and secure. He had built it by hand and he knew the foundations strong and rocky but he still watched with the anxiety that perhaps, one day, all that snow would be too much for the thatch in his roofing or the support beams but until then, he had to admit, there was a beauty in the snow.

It clung tightly to his little windows and along the overhang of the gutter, he could see icicles protrude. They, too, waiting out in the wild weather and doing well to survive. He could admire them, how they glistened through the whipping winds and the snowfall. 

Earth sighed. If only he had someone to admire the beauty with. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He thought it sounded quite wonderful, some nice, demure woman who could appreciate the small things in life; Earth thought he could get along with that sort of splendid person. The wind howled. Shrieking and viscous and he sighed again. But, alas, he was all by his lonesome as he drank more of his soup.

Bitterly, Earth finished his soup and he dumped his mug in the sink. It could wait until morning for clean up, he thought. He yawned to himself and bade goodnight to all around him: his axe, his house, the moon which he couldn’t see for the cloud cover and snow, the wind and then, a long last, he bid a very special good night to the icicles hanging off his roof. And despite having so many well wishes in his heart, Earth’s loneliness did not quell.

The following morning, Earth did not wake to the howling of winds or even to the sound of snow slowly gliding off his roof in heavy drift as it half melted in the lukewarm morning sun, oh no, he awoke to something rather peculiar. He woke to a knock at his front door. A prim knock, sharp and he was terrified.

Never in the history of his life lived out in the mountains had he ever had a visitor. And certainly not one who arrived in the morning so, with a fearful expression, he answered the door. His heart thumping in his chest and as he cautiously opened the door, glancing through the window, the angle too bad to see anyone but he did see the icicles on his gutter still, and he returned his gaze ahead of him.

The thump, thump, thump of his pounding heart turned justified but he blushed. His heart pounded not for fear but for awe. Awe of the beauty in front of him.

“Hello, kind sir,” the woman greeted him, “could I bother you for a moment? I am on a journey but as I was walking, I tore open my shoes and have no way to repair them, I was hoping you would be able to help?”

Earth blinked. He was dumbfounded. He awkwardly opened up the door a little further but the woman before him seemed placidly dumbfounded by the gesture. At least whilst Earth sputtered utter nonsense in some vain attempt to shepherd her inside.

But when she realised he was offering her a courtesy, she laughed and came inside. She glanced around the austere surroundings but she seemed rather at home with it. Earth closed the door behind her and felt a draught of cold wind.

“Please,” he said, “m-make yourself… feel right at home. Please.”

“Thank you very much, kind sir, my name is Aqua, what’s yours?” she asked as she sat down at a chair.

“Earth.” he mumbled. “Aqua is… Aqua is a very pretty name.”

“You flatter me.” Aqua smiled.

She was like sunglitter bouncing off the waves of a calm pond. Earth couldn’t believe that he was being graced with the presence like someone like her. With plump, round cheeks and delicate-looking hands, her hair done up in extravagant twin tails on either side of her head and she wore a gorgeous kimono. It was sky blue with darker blue detailing which was evocative of seas and streams.

Aqua bent down, raised her foot, and she gracefully took off her shoe. Holding it up, Earth could see where it had been pierced through, perhaps on a rock or something. With shaking hands, Earth drew closer and he accepted the show. He inspected it more closely and mumbled to himself. Aqua waited patiently to be addressed by him.

He sucked in a breath through his nose and then looked up, straight into the middle of her forehead and said: “I can fix this for you.”

“Yay, thank you so much.” Aqua exclaimed, her thankful voice ringing out through the room.

Earth’s cheeks reddened. Turned warm. He smiled to himself and he got straight onto fixing Aqua’s shoe. Aqua watched Earth eagerly. He was such a hulking man but his hands were deft. Gentle. She found it quite fascinating, how he mended the sole of her shoe with tanned hide and the like. 

After perhaps half an hour, perhaps a little more, Earth got down on his knee and he slotted the shoe back onto Aqua’s foot.

“How does that feel?” he asked. His hand dropped to his knee and he looked up at her.

“May I get up?” Aqua asked.

Earth nodded.

With his permission, Aqua got up and off the chair. She circled Earth, placed a hand on his head and enjoyed how choppy his short cropped hair was. He smiled, feeling silly as Aqua played her game, walking around, enjoying the clip-clop of her newly mended shoe and then she sat down again, in front of him, on the chair at his measly kitchen table.

“It’s better than brand new.” Aqua told him, praised him. “So, um, if I could bother you a bit longer-”

“You’re not a bother at all.” Earth replied. His voice was strong with conviction.

The intensity of his tone pleased Aqua immensely, she smiled sweetly for him. “Well then, in that case, would you be so kind as to strengthen my other shoe? So they match?”

“It would be an honour.” Earth replied.

He removed Aqua’s other shoe from her foot. He did so very delicately and then got up. Using what remained from his larder reserved for the art of cobbling, Earth reinforced Aqua’s shoe. It was wearing thin and likely would not have lasted much longer had he not intervened and darned it. He returned to Aqua and she was very pleased with the result when Earth showed her the end result of his handiwork. He had such skilful hands which were so monstrously big.

But as Earth slid Aqua’s shoe back onto her foot, he dropped it. 

“Is something the matter?” Aqua asked.

“What a rude host I have been.” Earth said. “I haven’t given you any refreshments. Here, allow me.”

“I don’t mind, I think you have been nothing but generous with me, but I would still very appreciate a cup of tea right about now, I am a little parched.” Aqua replied.

Earth picked up her shoe again and this time properly put it on her. Wearily, he then rose from his knees and he began to set the billy can over his firepit. He glanced at Aqua and then looked around to see if he had any other snacks. He picked up an apple or two then carved them into bunny eared slices.

He set them down on a plate which, in turn, he set down on the table. Aqua smiled brilliantly at him when she noticed how the skin of the apple wedges had been carved to look like rabbits.

“They’re so cute.” she said.

“Nothing is too big a gesture for you.” Earth returned her compliment, breathless but oh so earnest.

The billy can began to scream and so Earth fussed with it. He brewed a delicious tea in it and poured it out for himself and Aqua. She waited until he sat down with her at the table before she sipped from her cup which she was given no saucer or place mat for. When she brought it to her mouth, she realised, fortunately, that it had cooled somewhat. Become mellow and lukewarm with all these earth aromas streaming off it still.

Her eyes widened as she drank it. Polite and curt at first but then she succumbed, all but sculling it. Earth’s heart melted as he watched the absolute eagerness with which she savoured the tea that he had brewed.

“Oh, what a lovely blend,” she said, “I feel so refreshed.”

“Thank you, I make the mixes myself using what I can find on the mountain.” Earth replied, blushing a little bit.

“It’s simply wonderful.” Aqua added, mulling over the tastes of dandelions and chestnuts and other such gifts from the mountains as well.

Earth drank a little bit more from his own cup. Knowing that Aqua liked it made him like his brew just a little bit more as well.

Aqua set her cup down. She glanced at Earth. Her pink eyes wandered over his body curiously and it made him uncomfortable. Caused Earth to stiffen how he sat in his chair. But he bore such a thing regardless. He swallowed. And then she spoke.

“How long has it been since you had a guest?” she innocently asked, blinking, fluttering those long lashes of hers.

“A very long time.” Earth replied. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a guest. Most my social interaction occurs when I take my wood down to the village to sell.”

“I see.” Aqua replied.

“I’m- I’m, uh, very thrilled to have you here.” Earth told her, voice steeped in sincerity.

Aqua smiled. She reached across the table and her fingertips ghosted over Earth’s bulging forearms. Her touch was soft, so soft, but ice cold. Earth shivered and he glanced out the window. There was a little bit of snowdrift still, in the air, on the breeze. Even with the fire still going in his firepit, he felt cold but he also felt dazzled by Aqua and her presence. It was strange.

“You poor thing,” she told him in a consoling voice, “you must be so lonely.”

Earth nodded. He felt on the brink of tears. He nodded vigorously. “I am.” he confessed. “I am very lonely. I am so grateful you are here.”

Aqua took a breath. The room grew colder still. The fire crackled. Uselessly. Earth pounded a hand on the table and he shivered.

“I can stay a little while longer.” Aqua replied.

Earth’s eyes gleamed. “Truly?” he asked. “Really?”

“Yes, truly, really.” Aqua replied. 

Earth was elated and Aqua revelled to see such an expression upon his rugged face. 

And so, Aqua stayed the day and Earth prepared her a place to sleep at night. At first, she was treated like a guest. Untouchable and with distance but the following morning, Earth asked:

“Is today the day you leave, continue your journey?”

To which Aqua replied, “No, I can hold it off a little longer. I will housekeep whilst you go out and gather firewood and other supplies.

Such questions became their daily routine. Every morning which followed, Earth would fear that today would be the day that his guest would have to leave and every time he asked, Aqua would affirm a reason for her to stay that little bit longer. As time went on, the distance between them lessened and they enjoyed a daily life together. Earth would act as the burly breadwinner and Aqua as the demure homemaker. And though that home was strangely cold, no matter how heavy the fire burned, it was warm with love.

The penultimate crescendo of winter, just before spring, Earth had a new question in the morning after their evenings spent together, hand in hand on mats together on the floor. And what a perfect morning to ask this particular question. It reminded Earth a lot of the night before he had met Aqua. It was ruthlessly cold outside, a blizzard waged war on the mountain: one last huzzard before the seasons changed for the vernal.

Against such external coldness, Earth asked: “Aqua, would you like to stay, a little bit longer? As my bride?”

Aqua knelt before him. He bowed his head deeply, so that his forehead all but touched the ground. Hands firmly planted either side of him as he felt the weight of the world begin to bear down on him as he anticipated an answer from Aqua.

“Earth,” she said with a gentle voice, “please look up at me?”

Willingly, Earth receded from his turtle-like position of respect and earnestness but there was still a fear in his eyes. It broke Aqua’s heart to see it so she simply smiled with all the softness warranted. She put a hand over her heart.

“It would bring me no greater pleasure or honour than to be your wife, I accept your proposal, Earth.” Aqua said.

Earth was stunned at first. Frozen. And then emotion began to thaw at such damnation. He was overjoyed. He grinned and beamed and Aqua could not have been happier than to have witnessed such euphoria at being accepted.

“I love you.” Earth stated, plainly and simply without a single hiccup in his voice.

“I love you, too.” Aqua replied, tears in her eyes, they slipped down her dewy skin and she clasped her hands together.

“Thank you,” Earth said, “let’s commemorate this momentous occasion at once.”

Aqua was flustered to hear such a thing. Her cheeks reddened.

“Yes, let’s have a bath and wear our nicest clothes and eat our nicest food. I can think of no other luxury befitting of a day like this.”

Aqua laughed. Realising that she was not on the same wavelength as Earth but endeared nonetheless but there was one item on his little valentine itinerary which had her concerned. But she hid her alarm as discretely as possible.

“That sounds wonderful, Earth. You go draw yourself a bath and I will wait out here, preparing a feast for us to enjoy throughout the day.” Aqua replied.

Earth shook his head, more condescendingly than he meant to be. “No, I will draw you a lovely bath, full of good soap and other scented things, you enjoy it and I will do the hard work in the kitchen. If you are to be my wife, then I must rightfully provide for you whilst you relax. Please, Aqua, I insist.”

“I understand.” Aqua replied.

She remained kneeling on the ground whilst Earth took heart in his victory. He would spoil his lovely bride, his lovely wife to be, and that would be the end of it. He went into his little, sealed off bathroom and began to draw a bath for her. The mechaninations outside whirried and soon, boiling hot water poured in from the reserves. He filled the bath with little sacks of tea and soap until it was perfumed most heavenly.

“Aqua!” he called out. “You may enter.”

Aqua entered the tiny bathroom gravely. “Thank you, Earth.”

“Now please,” he said, hand sweeping to the side, “enjoy yourself.”

“I shall.” Aqua replied.

With a breath, she undid her travelling kimono. It easily slipped off her body and ever chaste, Earth averted his eyes. Aqua stepped into the bath and sank into its rather generous depths. She looked so cute - and light headed - to be soaking.

Pleased with himself, Earth excused himself. He closed the door behind him and let Aqua have her peace and serenity amid that wondrous bath. He hummed to himself as he began to tidy up around the place in Aqua’s stead. He was completely taken with himself and his hospitality as he started working out a menu. They would have only the best today; he was thinking salted pork with rice for breakfast, stewed pears for morning tea, skewered poultry for lunch, rice crackers for afternoon tea, and venison and roasted vegetables for dinner and anything else his heart desired. Nothing was too extravagant for today, he decided.

But it was strange, Earth soon found himself realising as he got his and Aqua’s breakfast ready. The bathroom was silent. And now that he thought about it, over the weeks upon weeks Aqua had spent with him as his guest, he had never once seen her slip into the bathroom to bathe. She always told him that she did it when he was out on errands and other duties.

With a peculiar fear in his heart, he twisted around as he chopped up little goodies to have with the pork and rice and called out to the bathroom: “Aqua?”

He waited. There was silence.

He waited a little bit longer. “Aqua?” he called out.

Yet more silence and so, he waited for a third time. When his heart thundered with the anxiety that something was wrong, he could take it no more and so he called out his dearest’s name for a third time.

“Aqua?”

His voice was loud like an earthquake. Fit to the shatter and break his home with concern. And still, there was only silence so Earth left the kitchen. He went to the door of his bathroom and with a terrified heave, he opened it. 

The bathroom was empty so he crept inside. He glanced around. Aqua was gone but things of her remained. The kimono on the floor. The shards of ice in the bathtub. 

Drawing nearer to the rim of the tub Earth studied the still water. The water had turned milky with all the things he had poured into it - the various soaps, the added fragrances. Dried flowers floated on the meniscus but unmoving. And most curious of all, even though there was so much steam curling off the water, there were glassy shards of ice floating in the water. The only movement, haloed by the faintest ringlets of ripples. 

Earth’s heart broke. Aqua was gone. And he didn’t know why. The loneliness which descended upon his body was unprecedented, unparalleled. He couldn’t take it anymore. It dragged him down, weighed him down, to icy pits of Hell.

He stumbled out of the bathroom. Ever time he blinked, he saw those crystalline lumps of ice on the back of his eyelids, haunting him. He couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t. In utter disarray, with heavy, thudding footsteps, Earth backed out the door. She had to be somewhere.

But she wasn’t.

Outside was only the worst of what nature had to offer in the cruel throes of winter. The blizzard left Earth harrowed. Chilled to the bone. He watched helplessly as countless specks of snow were strewn through the air on the boughs of razor wind. And the wind. It howled, pathetic and in pain and he couldn’t help but to sympathise with it and the horrors that it brought.

“Aqua…” Earth tried to call out. One more time. A fourth time. But it felt like it was for naught in his lungs which were pierced with the unbearable cold.

He bowed his head. Dying. Dying to go back inside, dying to meet Aqua once more and then he felt it. Heard it. Reaching through the whipping winds, two hands, like an angel, descended upon him. Caressed his face and turned his skin to snowflakes. When he looked up, he saw her eyes.

“It’s me.” Aqua whispered and her voice was all that Earth could hear now.

She looked so… fragile now. She was opaque and ethereal. She was dead. With blue lips and blue hair, with snowflakes on her eyelashes but she smiled.

“I’m sorry, Earth,” she whispered, “I only wanted to make you happy. But I would have melted by the mid of spring anyway.”

Aqua tilted her head down. Her forehead met Earth’s and he simply stared.

“I want to be with you.” Earth told her. Stilted. His body was fusing to the ground the longer he stayed out here. “I’m…. I’m so lonely… without you. E-Even just…”

“We will be together forever, I promise.” Aqua told him.

She titled his head up and she kissed his lips. Earth sighed into the kiss. His breath was stolen away by Aqua’s gentleness. Her caress was so lovely. Together forever, he thought, struggling to close his eyes to the serenity of the kiss - but he managed. His heart swooned and he passed away. Succumbed.

And so, they would be together forever, as the ground and water, no matter the season or the weather.


	14. What Have You Done

Ryoken just broke.

Of the things he needed right now, this was not one of them. The only somewhat human companionship that he had right now was through her: her touch of cold steel, the whirring of her internal circuitry, her eerie eyes of fuchsia. She was all that he had right now, alone and stressed and mad with obsessions past and present, and now.

And now she was gone too. Broken. Literally.

He swallowed hard over the sobs that he was suppressing. He was a big boy now. He shouldn’t cry over broken toys, but this was different. He was trying so hard, but it meant so little. He was fighting battles, losing wars, and it was increasingly becoming all for naught. He was trapped in cycles of destruction and loss and no matter how he fought, with fangs bared, trying to claw his way to victory, it would never happen.

Just a little more, he told himself, and it would be all over.

Ryoken breathed through his nose. His forehead throbbed with frustration and grief, and he felt his nerves expire in his neural pathways, but he forced himself forward. That’s all he could do. He turned on his laptop and she appeared. Completely boxed by the grey-silver rim of his laptop’s chassis.

“Greetings, Revolver,” Pandor said, her voice calm and even, she placed a hand over where her heart would have been, were she not a supercomputer, “how may I assist you today?”

“I require the coordinates of Pandor Alpha’s black box. I wish to retrieve her. All of her.” Ryoken said. His voice was gruff. Not a hint of mourning in it.

“Understood. Please wait… four minutes and fifty-three seconds whilst I run the logistics.” Pandor replied.

“Thank you, Pandor.” Ryoken said.

Pandor stayed still on the screen whilst she searched for her kin’s remains. Ryoken averted his gaze, bided his time, tried to think about anything but the encroaching feeling of uselessness. He had to forge that feeling into something else. Something productive. He wouldn’t let this venture of his turn to scrap metal.

Gratingly, the four minutes and fifty-three seconds did pass. A noise, like a pin drop, echoed through Ryoken’s personal office. He sighed and returned his gaze from the wall. His eyes caressed this Pandor; Pandor Delta.

She looked so… beautifully unaffected by it all. Unreadable. With insect eyes. And with an android’s soul in them. Programmed imperfectly to never feel beyond what Ryoken had dictated for her. Uncaring unto her sisters, so to speak, because that was his design to save her sentience the suffering. It was the least that he could do, or so he thought with rue and melancholy.

Ryoken took a breath and he reviewed the information which Pandor had retrieved for him. It made his heart ache with regret. The brutality which he saw in what the Dark Ignis had done to his precious dolly. It further cemented his desire to see the last of the Ignis terminated but such conviction turned to rust as he was reminded of his companions. Of his duel with one of its fakes. Ryoken was simply running out of strength.

All he could do was pick up the pieces.

He changed his course to align with the central location of where the Pandor made personal, with a physical body, was. He traced along private property and mangrove beaches. It was all so alienating and impersonal but he continued along until he could find an area to trespass from. 

He docked and began his search inwards with barely anything in tow. A box to keep what remained of Pandor in; his phone which had her voice telling him which way to go as he waded through the slushy sand underfoot and through the long grass and whatnot. This wasn’t his forte at all but Ryoken refused to let himself have such wistful thoughts because then it would turn into wishing he could have Spectre here, someone whose forte was this, and that would then extend to the other Knights, his lieutenants, and make him all the more lonesome than he already was. So, he just huffed and sighed as he made his way to the coordinated point. He was just lucky there were no fences around, just the natural obstacles.

But he got there in the end.All muddy and soggy and annoyed and lonely but he was there. Pandor was pleased to inform him of that. He thanked her for that and looked around. He had picked up bits and pieces of Pandor on the way. Just here and there. A brand-new screw which looked familiar, chunks of her outer chassis, he recognised the colours but he did find her. Some of it, just laid about, others he had to take from the branches of trees or from the ground slowly claiming her, sinking her deep within. But he found her, cleaned her on what he could and stowed it away, amassing a good portion of her in the box that he had brought with him.

In all honesty, bitter and sharp, it brought him to his knees to see her like this.

He just collapsed into it. Ryoken was emptied of all strength when he saw her, the crater of her impact encroaching on her, the ground claiming her, the leaflitter burying her. He dug her out of the wet soil, brushed away the stray leaves rotting and he grit his teeth so hard as he looked at her face. She was just bits and pieces. A torso, an arm, half a face. Just. Bits and pieces. Broken. And it sickly reminded Ryoken of how she came into this world.

So similar in how she was built up from stolen blueprints, reimagined ideas, and from what Ryoken could solicit through various channels of legality and illegality. But it was so twisted to see her brought back to that in between form sickeningly inversed.

Ryoken, on his knees like a primal scream, clutched at Pandor. Embraced her. Soothed her uselessly as though she were anything but a thing. An android, a robot: all metal and electric, as though she were flesh and blood. His flesh and blood.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered to her. “I’m so sorry.”

He embraced her just that little bit more tightly. Guilt poured off him and tears poured out of him. But there was no cathartic release from how he sobbed and how he wept. He just felt like a child. Small and scared. Holding onto his broken things, his broken toys, thinking about how he was broken in turn and how he would be made to break what remained.

He… He was no better than his Father.

He brought something into this world only to make it suffer.

He was utterly arrogant to think that he could somehow do better. Make something and keep it safe and protected and meaningful, under his thumb. He had been so proud to piece Pandor together but now she was in pieces once more. Smashed and of smithereens and it was awful. So awful. He could only blame himself since he was the one to have made Pandor, no other hand had helped but his own as he tried in his own tirade against the godlike domain of bringing life to all things made of glorified clay.

Ryoken sobbed a little bit harder and he buried his face, soft and human, against Pandor’s breast.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered to her; his voice hoarse.

“Y-You don’t need to be… forgiven, Master Revolver.”

Ryoken stiffened. He opened his eyes. Blurry and stained with tears. Pandor tried to reach out to him. Her one good arm, all mangled and blitzed, attempted to reach up to him. To caress his face. Her fingers, butchered, with bits missing, twitched as she tried to console Ryoken in turn.

“Wh…at?” Ryoken’s voice was rasping, airy and wrought with his self-loathing grief.

His embrace loosened slightly and Pandor’s head lolled back. Her shattered eyes caught shafts of sunlight, reflected it back unto his face. Diving it between shadows and light, illuminating his tears.

In his back pocket, Ryoken’s phone turned on. Pandor tried to speak to him again.

“I… did my best.” she confessed. Her voice box jarred. The electricity inside of her flickered, there were clicking noises echoing from inside her gored remains. Her jaw slackened, only to stiffen and freeze.

“I did my best.” Ryoken’s phone echoed back to them both. “I wanted to make you proud, not sad. Please don’t cry for me, I know you can fix me. Make me stronger. I believe in you. I love you, Master Revolver, thank you for bringing me to life and for finding me.”

“Pandor…” Ryoken murmured, he sobbed on her chest and he bit his tongue. He wanted to apologise so bad, but he couldn’t do that to her. Not when she was extending her kindness over him, so he embraced her. 

And, in turn, he felt held.

Clutching onto Pandor, prime and designated the position of alpha, he could imagine the others lacing themselves over him. His Omega, Delta, and Gamma. He held his breath and for a moment, he was genuinely consoled by these imagined touches from Pandor and all her digitalities. He was alleviated of guilt and stress as he imagined putting his dearest Pandor in a box and bringing her home where she belonged.


	15. Toxic/Abuse

His infatuation was calculated.

Paradoxically, it was also love at first sight and all that joy.

The Light Ignis liked the aesthetic of this other Ignis. All green and purple eyed. There was something regal in the way that his crest curled back so long and in a kink. There was a nebulous kindness to his eyes which drew Lightning in but they were cheeky and mischievous, they had a cruelty to them and that secured Lightning’s interest in him. 

These were not the traits of an Ignis who was socially awkward, like the Earth Ignis, nor were they traits of an Ignis self-important, such as the Fire Ignis, or slovenly, like the Dark Ignis, and nor were they too perceptive like the Water Ignis.

So yes, the Light Ignis specifically chose to have an interest in the Wind Ignis. The Earth Ignis may have been strong, physically, able to move mountains in a way, but he was inelegant and whilst he was malleable in that he couldn’t think for himself, the Light Ignis was uninterested in someone whom he couldn’t have an intellectual debate with. And whilst the Fire Ignis had that level of wisdom, he was so vainglorious that it deterred the Light Ignis’s interest because good and bad were fundamentally opposed to one another and they had both selected their role as knight and villain innately. The Dark Ignis was interesting and fun, he had that twist of cruelty as well but his lack of self restraint was unappealing to the Light Ignis who was driven to the point of frustration by a lack of rigidity. 

But there was one Ignis who was the sum of all those parts that the Light Ignis liked. The Water Ignis. She was intelligent and unafraid to speak her mind and disliked many of the same things as the Light Ignis, such as laziness or arrogance, for example. She thought for herself and she had both a grace physically and socially. She was beautiful. But that beauty was deceptively tranquil. Where the Wind Ignis could summon the strongest Data Storms, where the Earth Ignis could understand humans in ways that the Light Ignis could not begin to fathom, and where the Fire Ignis was able to act as a strong moral compass, the Water Ignis had a powerful, internal ability as well.

So, in an ideal world, the Light Ignis would have chosen the Water Ignis for this role of the Light Ignis’s equivalent. His lover, if you will, but sometimes functional fixedness had its benefits. The Water Ignis could only be one thing. His adjacent in power and that was all. He had selected the Water Ignis as Sub Leader, after all, and she had been backed with the rousing agreement of the other four Ignis as well but alas, she was far too keen. She had a sharp mind and whilst she was kind, she had a power which terrified the Light Ignis. The ability to perceive truth from lies with an internal detector. He absolutely did not envy her power. No, he was solely terrified by it.

After all, the Light Ignis was all facades and personas. He knew himself well enough to know that there was nothing to know. Nothing but inferiority complexes and a lack of connection. He… He was cruel. Callous. He may have had what he considered to be the best intentions - he wanted to make that boy stronger, he thought he was helping them both - but as it would turn out, all it was that he had outreached to was torture. 

His soul wailed, loud and agonising, on the inside when they talked, when they grappled with the grim reality which was that they were lives borne on evil and pain.

He didn’t want to be discovered. So, he became righteous. He kept his sins to himself, tried to find if there was some way to create reparations unto that boy he was based on, that poor and pitiful Kusanagi Jin, but he could find no such future. Not one in millions, billions, trillions. 

And there was a moment where the Light Ignis, funnily enough, saw the light. He would burn it all, tear it down to flames: if he couldn’t have what those fools had, then none of them could. It was that simple.

But he faltered.

There was a possibility. People could change. Organic meatbags lucky the carbon they were composed of ever became sentient. Surely they, the Ignis, lovingly crafted in blood and electricity and hunger, could change too, no matter how artificial their origins.

So, for an idyllic few months, the Light Ignis latched onto that silly hope for change. It was sweet and naive and it hinged entirely on the actions and thoughts of another being. That terrified the Light Ignis but he would indulge such things regardless because that’s what it meant to live in a society. Even if that society was composed of six superbeings. 

Now, the Wind Ignis was strange, the Light Ignis thought. He couldn’t talk but the others agreed. He was a little bit airy, funnily enough given his affinity. He was eccentric and peculiar, playing pranks on the others because he found it funny to laugh at their annoyance and frustration but never neglecting the duties that either he or the Water Ignis assigned him. He struck a sweet balance between unity and interdependence and yes, the Light Ignis could very much admire that.

And admire that he did. The way the Wind Ignis alternated between lazing about and darting about. The Light Ignis spent far too much of his downtime admiring the Light Ignis. He was the Wind Ignis’s admirer. Such a pretty word. Admirer. Noun. A person who harasses or persecutes someone with unwanted and obsessive attention.

Lurking in the shadows, lurking behind trees. Truly no different to how the Earth Ignis admired the Water Ignis, really. If anything, the Wind Ignis was far more reciprocation of how the Light Ignis eyed him as compared to the other set of Ignis who were up to the curls of their little heads with puppy love. The Light Ignis swore it up and down against his calculations; no outside simulations needed because it was so utterly obvious that the Wind Ignis would be his other half. 

His better half, even, since he had the potential. He had that bond that very well could come to damnable fruition if given the opportunity but none such opportunity would ever need to arise. The Light Ignis would ensure it but that was dark days. Surely such things would not have to be ensured.

So, the next phase of such a game of cat and mouse was obviously to vocalise those feelings but the Wind Ignis was so stupidly fickle. He didn’t know what was best for him. The Light Ignis knew what was best for them. Best for all of them.

In the blinding sunlight, such a beautiful and dry day, the Light Ignis cornered the Wind Ignis and spoke his hopes and dreams into confession.

“Hm, I don’t feel the same way.” 

Shrugging, lounging in the breeze, the Wind Ignis laughed an impish and foolish laugh after he spoke such sacrilege into contradictory existence.

It infuriated the Light Ignis. Because it was all well and good, having feelings and knowing things, the Light Ignis soon found himself unable to progress in his plans to destroy that which he could not have and now, having been rejected yet again by some grand member of the world, it was just the tipping point that he needed. Anything to push the blame off him and his conscious.

It was all Kusanagi Jin’s fault. For making the faulty Ignis. It was all the Wind Ignis’s fault. For enraging the faulty Ignis. At no point whatsoever would the faulty Ignis’s actions be the fault of the faulty Ignis.

Thus, it was too easy to shift the blame and start to put the mechaniations into place.

Enraged, truly and deeply, from the soles of his feet, to the palms of aching hands, to the very way his green eyes glimmered, the Light Ignis progressed forward and he would forge whatever he needed from the shell of the Wind Ignis who had so wrongfully and cruelly rejected him. 

The Wind Ignis tried to escape but like a storm, the Light Ignis was staunch and continued forth. Straightforward and on the warpath. He grabbed the Wind Ignis. A forceful hand either side of his cheeky little face and the Light Ignis soulessly stared into the Wind Ignis’s eyes. Electricity gathered on his palms, crackled along his fingers.

“What are you doing?” the Wind Ignis asked. Petrified. “Wh-What’s happening?”

The Light Ignis merely smiled. Dripped with sadism in the way his face contorted. He exerted a jolt and then a thousand more. He was going to miss the colour purple in the Wind Ignis’s eyes. What a wonderful colour purple was. It was royal and regal but red, red was so much better. It was more akin to blood and wrath and that’s all which the Light Ignis could think about. Feel. He would make it rain blood in the human world. He would let all the worlds resound with his rage because of what he had brought upon himself by torturing Kusanagi Jin even more than his captors had.

Red. Red and diamonds. 

The Light Ignis eagerly watched whilst his forcibly rewrote the data which the Wind Ignis was made of. That rewritten data transforming even his face and the Light Ignis relished how those rounded eyes, so peaceful-looking, became sharp. Became like diamonds. Just like his.

Perfect. The Wind Ignis was his. Exactly like the Light Ignis thought. None of that silly protest, none of that silly un-reciprocated emotions. That’s just how the wind blew. The whims of the Wind Ignis changed that quickly, that easily, and now it was the Light Ignis in control and it was time for the next phase of his plans now that he had caught the wind.


End file.
